Under Ahriman's Rule
by TobyWong
Summary: 20 years after RIchie's death, Methos takes Duncan out of holy shelter, to show him the world under Ahriman's rule...
1. Chapter 1

_We have existed since the dawn of time. Immortals. Forever fighting to keep our heads above our shoulders and be the last of our kind. But that is not our sole struggle. Every millennium a preternatural force surfaces and one of us is chosen to fight him. In 1997, Duncan MacLeod carried the burden... and failed. The world paid the consequences. But there is still hope, a tiny one, but hope still. And immortals with any good in them will fight that force, until not one remains..._ I – Voices From The Past. 

_Tibet. 2017._

A few shafts of light broke through the holes resembling windows, struggling to defeat the everpresent darkness. The room was almost empty. An old monk was sweeping calmly. He felt his bones complaining about the work as he contemplated his doing. The room was neat and clean. The sun leaked through over the emptiness. His eyes looked farther and noticed the other as he began to pace away slowly.

That stranger had been there for twenty years. He had arrived when the monk was entering his fifties, and most of his teeth were in its place. Now he was in his seventies, and found painful even moving.

The other was a strange man, more than what the word would allow. His beard had grown with his hair, but the monk was certain. He had not aged. It was good for him, he thought without envy as he waved at the other before leaving the room, as he never forgot to do, not being replied, as it always happened.

Cross-legged, with his arms completing the lotus position, Duncan MacLeod watched in still silence as the monk left him by himself. He could have returned the salute. He had done it before, in other times, with other people. Had it been a decade? A century? More? Memory failed.

"_It's bad manners not to say hello, you Scottish goat!"_

Duncan felt startled as his mind struggled with the words he had just heard. His brain began to function. It was English language. The voice had a British accent... a familiar accent. And the choice of words... it couldn't be. He had to be hallucinating.

"_Duncan MacLeod, you have become mean-mannered... and also a filthy pig!"_

It couldn't be. He had died by a blade as many others Duncan had known. For they were forever bound by a limitless Game in which they had to fight to keep their heads over their shoulders.

"_You couldn't read... you couldn't write... and now you can't even speak?!?"_

Duncan stood up and looked around. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. His tongue had not moved in more than he could remember... or know.

"This can't be..." he mumbled.

"Really?" This time the voice came from behind him, whispering in his ear. "Then what am I doing here?"

Duncan turned, finding a tall, blond man bearing good looks and very elegant trims. He was smiling at him with a smoky pipe in his right hand. Duncan stared as if the other were a ghost, which indeed he had to be.

"Fitz?!"

"Yes, my friend. I left the afterlife to come and say hello." Hugh Fitzcairne replied as he moved around Duncan.

"But how..."

"It doesn't matter, Highlander." Fitz raised a hand to make his point. "What matters is what YOU are doing here?" He emphasised his words pointing at Duncan with the pipe.

"I..." Duncan's mind juggled with a plethora of thoughts. "Richie..."

"Oh, I remember. You were tricked to behead Richie." Fitz spoke nonchalantly. "So? Is that a reason enough to spend twenty years buried here?"

"It was my fault."

"Nonsense, MacLeod." Fitz snapped. Duncan wondered if he was truly having this conversation, if his mind was not tricking him, making him believe he was chatting with a ghost. "Richie's death was an accident. Supernatural things. It happened to us before, remember?"

The snow. Duncan shivered remembering the trip they had underwent to find gold in the late nineteenth century. Months amid snow, snow, and nothing but snow. He shook away the memories before they overwhelmed him.

"But..."

"Have you forgotten who you are?" Fitz' image suddenly disappeared. "Tell me who are YOU..." now he was to his left "... YOU..." to his right .." YOU?!" Fitz appeared before him, their noses almost touching.

"I..." Duncan stammered.

"Anyway, just thought about visiting. Seems I'm not the only one. See you when you die..." Fitz shrugged with a smile. "I hope not soon."

Duncan blinked and Fitzcairne was gone. But something else kicked in. He felt it in his head, buzzing furiously. The Highlander shivered, feeling weak and run through by an unnerving cold sweat. He turned to face the door.

The footsteps echoed furiously as the stairs were being climbed up. The old monastery had that feature, but he had forgotten it. The steps grew louder and halted... at the door.

Suddenly it burst open. A beacon of light flooded the room and Duncan made out the slim shadow of a man, who gave two steps and gazed around, inspecting the place. Duncan saw the head jerk towards him and he trembled. He would be unable to present battle.

"Hello, MacLeod."

The other's voice seemed familiar. But he could not be certain. The shadow began to move closer, always shielded by darkness, the few light that broke through the window illuminating parts of his body: his chest, his legs. But never his face.

"Who... who is it?" Duncan stammered.

The figure stopped at a point where light highlighted most of him, from the feet to the neck. The face remained concealed. Duncan sensed in his bloodstream and joints the beginnings of a feeling he had lost acquaintance with, even before Richie's death. That feeling was fear.

"You don't remember me. It surprises me, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. We were friends. Not very close friends, but I saved your neck one or twice." The other paced back and forth calmly, hands in the pockets of the long black coat he wore. At some point, Duncan thought he caught a glimpse of his face. "You saved mine more, though."

"I know you..."

"Yes, Duncan, you know me." The man halted and stuck a hand inside his coat, to then produce something long that reflected the sunlight. Unmistakably, it was a sword. What was this man up to? "You offered me this... the last time I saw you."

He saw how the other gripped the sword by the border between the blade and the hilt and extended the latter to him. The sculpted white shape of a dragon abruptly faced Duncan and memories of twenty years before hit him hard.

"M—Methos?"

"Bravo, Highlander." The man stepped forward, revealing a lean face which bore the novelty of a pair of thin glasses. Duncan's chin quivered.

"What... why... are you...?"

"Each man has a way to grieve. Richie's death was an accident. You've spent too long in here. But as I said, you grieve your own way." Methos squatted by Duncan. "I didn't want to disturb you but..."

"Why... did you come... here then?"

"Because what's left of the world you left behind twenty years ago needs you out of here to defeat Ahriman."

Duncan remembered. He was said to be the Champion, chosen to defeat the demon Ahriman who resurfaced every millennia. But Ahriman had made him kill his protégé. He had failed.

"I can't. The world is lost if I'm it's only hope." He said despondently.

Methos didn't like what he heard. He smirked in frustration but never let his cunning eyes off Duncan. The Highlander was expecting an argument aimed at convincing him, but Methos stood up and turned.

"Fine, MacLeod." Methos said easily as he jerked his head to glimpse at the Highlander. "But if not for the world... for a friend?"

"What do you mean?" Duncan queried as he stood up.

"Joe." Methos hissed. "He's dying. I'd wanted to come many times since I learnt you were here... but I never thought you would leave..."

"Joe...?" Duncan remembered his Watcher... his friend, the ancient mortal without legs that was a sucker for guitars, blues and books. He had vanished without a trace, never telling anyone where he was. But he needed to mourn alone!

"Lung cancer." Methos whispered. "He wants to see you one last time..."

Duncan dithered. "I'll say goodbye to him... and then return."

"Fine, Highlander." Methos was by the door. "The world will bury itself in oblivion, but what can I do about it?" His voice lingered in the room as his footsteps echoed away...

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: the snow Duncan remembers is a reference to the novel "White Silence" by Ginjer Buchanan. Fitz' "Who are you?" line is taken from The Who's song._


	2. Chapter 2

**II – Old Friends.**

New York City 

_Two days later._

Duncan and Methos strolled through an avenue. The Highlander had bathed, tied his hair, and modelled his beard, which thinly surrounded his lips and ended below his chin. He felt uncomfortable wearing tight jeans and a shirt after so long a time. Methos had noticed it but silenced.

The streets were so empty, Duncan thought. The city used to be so full of people walking hecticly to and fro, especially in working days and in the certainty of the World Trade Center... He halted, noticing that something was not where he remembered...

"The Towers? Where are they?" He queried.

Methos grinned. "In 2001, a terrorist group hijacked two planes and made them crash against the Towers. They were demolished... and plans to rebuild them started but... they were only plans."

Duncan shuddered at the thought of the dying that should have been unleashed that day. He had not talked much with Methos, and when he did, the sole topic had been the health of Joe. How much else had happened? They kept on walking and Methos noticed how his friend looked shattered by the revelation. He dithered whether to tell him the rest of what else had happened.

"What... happened afterwards? Were the terrorists caught?" Duncan stammered.

"The White House sent attacks against Afghanistan and Iraq, claiming there were nuclear weapons... none of which were found. Thousands were slaughtered needlessly." Methos spoke detachedly, not a hint of emotion in his voice.

The lights went red and they stopped at the corner. There were no moving cars. They followed the old habit merely by instinct, or maybe for reluctance to face the truth reality brought with it.

"How did it happen?"

"What, MacLeod?"

"How did he get to rule the world?" He stared at Methos and noticed something that disturbed him: hesitation. "Methos..."

The lights went green and they started walking again.

"With you gone, Ahriman had green light to do what he wanted. But he needed a means to achieve control of the world. So he offered one of us whatever he desired. The other gave in..." He paused. "It is not easy to explain. Presidents, Chancellors and Ministers start perishing in disgusting circumstances... some time later, ordinary people follow. Famine and scarcity are unleashed. The world resources are cut off for a few years. In between, he found another immortal whom he considered better for his purposes and let the other go. This immortal speaks on behalf of Him, offering the planet back in exchange of the world's domination."

"No one opposed?!?" Duncan nearly yelled.

"Some immortals went after his dwelling and died a horrible death. This immortal has grown stronger with the heads he took, thus making him stronger as well..."

"What about you??"

"We've arrived." Methos suddenly opened a door and they walked inside a hospital. It was empty and filthy. There were stretchers and wheelchairs here and there, but not a single human soul awaited or was awaited. Methos led him to the stairs, which they climbed up a floor.

Methos led him left through an alley in which the only living things besides them were a starving dog and its grunting owner. Duncan paid no heed to them and carried on walking carelessly. Abruptly, Methos turned left and opened a door, and motioned the Highlander in.

Duncan found a light blue room, to the right of which, besides a window and a room that was surely the bathroom, a bald and fat man lay in a bed, barely breathing. The man had had his eyes fixed on the ceiling till he heard the door opened. He had glanced, expecting to find the doctor but instead... Duncan MacLeod was there, or his shadow at least.

"Mac!" he gasped painfully.

Duncan eyed sadly his old friend. Joe had gained an awful lot of weight, and the chemotherapy had made all his hair fall. He found himself shocked as he held the hand of his old friend.

"Hello Joe..." his voice cracked.

"You look like shit..." Joe's eyes looked beyond. "What is this son of a bitch doing here?!"

Duncan glanced back, noticing the curse was directed at Methos. He saw the old immortal step out of the room.

"Joe, you need to rest." Duncan tried to soothe him, wondering what he had missed.

"Rest?" Joe chuckled and stirred in pain. "I'm in bed all day!" He sobered. "Where have you been, Mac?"

"Holy ground... I wanted to..."

"Richie's death still chases you, doesn't it? It wasn't your fault. It's that god damn mother fucker red devil."

"I know Joe..." Duncan calmed his friend. The other's eyes fixed upon his.

"Then why did you blame yourself?! 20 years without a word... and you are the Champion!!" Joe sighed. "Were, at least."

Duncan felt the reproach but silenced. Arguing with a moribund man would not be wise or fair. Joe coughed and his body shook in pain as he lay back in his pillow motionlessly.

"Joe... Joe..." he cried.

Then Duncan knew it was over. Even before cancer defeated the old Watcher, and the sensor emitted a final and lasting beep. Duncan felt his chest gripped by angst and sadness and his heart beating madly, wanting to break free. He buried his face against Joe's hand, weeping silently.

A doctor appeared and checked the device plugged to Joe's wrist. Duncan felt Methos patting him. He eyed at him, and saw a tear rolling down the stiff expression of the oldest immortal he had ever known. Duncan stood up to let the doctor do her job.

"Sir, excuse me... you knew Joe?"

The voice... Duncan turned. A woman in her mid fifties with a few wrinkles on her face and long grey hair tied in a ponytail stared at Duncan in rapt amazement. He had known her... even loved her, in a different time and place.

"Anne?"

"Duncan..." Doctor Anne Linsey threw herself into his arms, sobbing like a child. The Highlander embraced her for a little while before she broke. "It's been..."

"A long time." He uttered.

She stroked his face and stepped back to gaze at the dead body of a mutual old friend. "Poor Joe. Cancer consumed him over the last ten years. He could have fought it but... he just..." her voice cracked into a whisper "didn't want to."

She turned... Duncan was gone...

-----

The Highlander brushed off his tears as he paced through the deserted alley of the hospital. Joe first... then Anne. Too many mixed emotions locked away inside him had broken free, and he couldn't endure them anymore.

He saw the man with the dog and noticed something he hadn't before. An awful scar ran through the animal's left socket, where an eye should have been. It was emaciated, and its owner was a well-fed obese man, who was enjoying a hot dog as his pet tried to scramble towards it.

"Shut up!" the man kicked the animal really hard and it twisted in pain on the floor. The whines were shattering.

"HEY!" Duncan snapped, clenching the man by the flabby throat against the wall. The other stared in shock as this stranger snatched the hot dog from him and threw it at the dog, which ate it wilfully.

Duncan let the man go and offered his hand to the dog, who licked it. He smiled at the pet, scowled at the owner, and kept on walking away.

Methos had contemplated the entire scene from behind. He couldn't suppress a smile. Duncan MacLeod was still himself. He had let despair and grief overpower him. But the brave man he once met was still there, dormant and waiting for the wake up call. Good, he thought. There was still hope...


	3. Chapter 3

**III – To Be Again.**

Inside Methos' apartment, Duncan was sipping a cup of tea, sitting in a comfortable sofa. He had missed the taste of it – and of many other foods and drinks - but only now that he tried them did he realise. Methos was staring out through a large window at the skyscrapers of New York, a magnificent view if any.

The old immortal had, or so he claimed, a reserve of supplies stored in a deposit. Tea, coffee and canned food. Meat and other likely meals were things of luxury, only available by shooting down a dove. Cows were extinguished in the United States. Farms were fields of green without moving life.

Duncan stood up and joined his friend. He noticed three photographs by him. The three of them featured Alexa. Methos had met her when she worked in Joe's bar. He had courted her but she had refused. She was dying but he insisted and took her on a trip around the world. He had done the impossible to try to save her... fruitlessly. They all die.

The first picture was taken in Paris, behind the bar Joe had owned there, where Alexa and Methos met. She seemed fine by then. The second picture was taken in Athens, near the Partenon. Alexa looked defeated by the disease, but still managed to beam at the camera. The third picture was taken from that very apartment, in the very spot Duncan was standing in. He grabbed the picture to take a closer look, finding something disturbing. He stared at the view, then at the picture, again at the view and finally at the picture. His eyes went from it to Methos, who stood there motionlessly.

The immortal once disguised under the alias Adam Pierson glanced at Duncan and found the Highlander's scowl. He gulped and his eyes posed on the picture MacLeod held. Could he...?

"What is it?" he feigned tranquillity.

Duncan didn't reply. He took the picture with him and stormed out of the apartment. Methos dithered but finally went after him. He caught him up in the street, where the other was standing in the road, it being so vacant of cars. He noticed Adam and pointed at the background of the picture.

"This can't be!" he yelled.

"What do you mean?" Methos sounded calm, though he knew he would have to speak.

"Alexa looks perfectly well... and she died before... Richie died." Duncan spoke loudly and irately. "And this picture lacks something: the Towers demolished in 2001..."

"MacLeod... there's an explanation..."

"I want it, Methos. And I want it now."

Methos felt a cold sweat freezing his spine. Talking about it didn't pride him. But he had known the time would come when he would have to reveal _all_ of what had happened. Like the atrocities committed as Death. Duncan had forgiven him that, but could he forgive what he had done?

"The first immortal Ahriman used..."

-----

_Paris, 2000._

A bucketing rain cleaned the streets of Paris. A fierce storm kept pedestrians at home. Inside his apartment, wearing only a pair of shorts, Methos lay on the bed, holding an empty bottle of vodka.

It had been another year. Another year since Alexa had perished. He should have got over it, but he couldn't. The drink didn't affect him really, nor made him feel any better, yet the mere act of sipping distracted him.

Darkness covered the room and only the occasional light brought by a bolt of lightning highlighted the monotony of the place. He blinked and sighed, unable to sleep as he was. Suddenly the bathroom lights turned on and he heard a humming coming therefrom. His breath was caught. He recognised the humming, he knew that voice. It could not be.

Then Alexa left the bathroom, in a towel, her hair wet after a shower. She looked so radiant. She was beautiful, and she made him feel beautiful. She casually leant by him and crossed a hand over his chest to then lay her head on it inertly.

Lightning broke and Methos recognised another shape, standing by the window, still as a statue, engulfed in obscurity. But that split second of light had been enough. Methos knew that face. He had known it too long. But he knew better than to believe it was Kronos who was standing there.

"Ahriman!" he spat up.

"Oh, Methos..." the man left his spot and drew nearer. "Isn't she lovely?"

He didn't reply. He just wanted this... nightmare?... dream?.. over as soon as possible. But with it, Alexa would be gone, and that, he doubted he would be able to endure, not after the seconds-lasting reunion. And words had not even been spoken.

Ahriman continued. "You could have her like this... all you have to do..." he smiled and a glimmer of red flooded his eyes "... is let me use your body."

"No!" the reply was harsh.

Suddenly Alexa seemed to wake up. She crept down his body and pulled his shorts down. Then she threw away the towel that covered her hardly perfect body and stared dumbly at him.

His reaction to her nudity was instantaneous. He wanted her, not so much for her physique but for her inner part as well. How many nights had he longed for another moment with her? But at what cost? Being Ahriman's instrument of domination?

She wrapped him with her legs. That turned Methos on even more. She smiled simply and hid his organ within hers. She began to push against him, sighing dimly. He reacted similarly, letting himself go in the act, feeling a sensation he had not felt in such a long time.

"Will you do it, Methos?"

The voice seemed a whisper now, echoing and fading. All he could hear clearly was her voice, rising higher as she throbbed harder. He was in the seventh heaven. Would he sell his soul for pleasure like that?

He bent her and went up on her, loving her kindly, loosening himself on her. He needn't reply. The bargain was struck.

----

_New York. 2017._

"And where is she?" Duncan approached and handed back the picture. His own voice cracked. What would he have done if Tessa... or Debra had been offered back to him? He had once tried to keep a woman he loved by him... he still regretted the murder of Kate Devaney, however distant it seemed now.

"Ahriman rules the world at his whim." Methos' voice hardened. "He let me keep her, till..." Methos struggled with himself "... one day for no reason, she disappeared..."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's –"

Methos silenced, feeling the buzz hitting him. Suddenly, a small ball flew towards them and hit the ground. He made out the green squares signalling what the element was before the grenade exploded and sent them both flying painfully through the air engulfed in an enormous blast of fire.

Pain throbbed through every inch of his body. He tried to find Duncan. The Highlander was nearby, visibly affected by the attack as well. Whoever it was, he was nearby, and drawing nearer.

MacLeod was standing up already, still dazzled. Methos felt himself fit enough to get up again. From amid the pavement debris caused by the blast, a longhaired figure, dressed in a sweatshirt, boots and a pair of worn-out jeans appeared, wielding a Celtic broadsword in his hands.

Methos produced his weapon and faced the just-arrived. The other raised a finger nonchalantly and made it move left and right, right and left.

"Duncan MacLeod, come out and fight, you coward!"

It was an Irish man. The accent gave him away. He glanced back. The Highlander was up already, staring in disbelief at the other immortal. These two knew each other.

"O'Rourke?" Duncan asked.

"Yes, Highlander. I've waited eighty years for this moment. Now fight... I challenge you!"

Duncan felt his legs going numb, and his stomach filled with butterflies when he saw Methos producing the _katana_ sculpted by Hideo Koto, a dragon in its hilt, and offering it to him. He didn't want to, not again. But he had been challenged.

Reluctantly, he jerked his arm forward, engulfing the hilt with his palm. After a momentary hesitance, he gripped it. He felt it like the touch of an old lover, a companion of a sinful affair. He made it twist in his hand to get the feel of it again.

He staggered forward, trying to guess what was what Liam O'Rourke wanted. He had seen the last of him in Dublin in the late 1930's, when the Irish and his girlfriend had been jailed for a bombing. He was immortal but she wasn't. He hadn't expected to find him again, let alone in the Sixth Avenue of a ghostly New York City.

O'Rourke lashed at his neck. Duncan avoided him clumsily, feeling his body stiff and awkward upon the want of exercise he had undergone in the last couple of decades. Another blow by the Irishman, this time aimed at his right arm, went amiss by half an inch. Duncan flinched. O'Rourke went forward yet again and gashed his right shoulder deeply. Duncan held his wound as the pain brought him to his knees.

"MacLeod, you have to fight!" Methos encouraged him. But Duncan didn't want to. He had taken the challenge because it was the right thing to do. He saw how Liam O'Rourke guffawed, knowing it too. The Irishman stormed towards him, making his arm turn viciously clock-like, the broadsword lethally arching downwards and upwards. Duncan closed his eyes to await the blow against his neck. "Richie would have wanted it??"

Richie. He had killed him. A neat slice against his neck, violently delivered after being deluded by Ahriman's illusions. He was his friend... and he had taken his head. Soon, when they met in the afterworld, he might have the chance to apologise. Richie had been a fine man. He had never flinched, and even dared opposing him when they had met shortly after Duncan got over the Dark Quickening that nearly got the young apprentice killed my its mentor.

He opened his eyes and his katana arched upwards, parrying the deathblow. O'Rourke staggered back in surprise. Duncan tightened his grip and swung the weapon masterly as his eyes acquired a certain ferocity that had been lost years before.

O'Rourke lunged at him but Duncan deflected off each and every of his moves. The Highlander made a downward chop which landed against Liam's sword yet he still delivered a powerful kick against the Irishman's chin. O'Rourke fell on his back, his sword flying away.

Duncan pointed his blade at his opponent, who glowered hatefully at him. Killing was wrong. But they were immortals. Every one of them knew they might die someday. Richie did, so did O'Rourke, and so did Duncan.

"Do it, you coward!" O'Rourke spat up.

Duncan felt an awful dread surging from within. Could he take another head after Richie? He dared not. Richie had never flinched... Duncan had opposed O'Rourke in memory to the friend he had beheaded. He hoisted his weapon and slammed against Liam's neck, beheading him. He let the sword go. Not taking his head wouldn't have been fair to O'Rourke, to Richie... and to himself.

A green glimmer engulfed O'Rourke. Duncan gritted his teeth as he prepared to welcome the quickening within him again after a long time. He saw a white mist surrounding him and the bolts of energy zapped him, one after the other. He shrieked, feeling the Irishman's anger in all its extent as his clothes caught fire and power raped him. It went off shortly later and he landed on his chest, shaking in the aftermath. Methos approached calmly.

"Very nice, MacLeod." Methos helped him up. "I'll take you back to the monastery."

Duncan stared at Methos. "I... will stay. Do you know how we might stand a chance against him?"

Methos grinned, noticing the Highlander of old times before him again. "Of course. But we'll need a little help..."


	4. Chapter 4

**IV – Ahriman.**

Nicholas Wolfe lay naked amid comfortable cushions and silken sheets. There was a curly blonde lying against his chest. Nick gratified himself upon the look of her buttocks and the memory of how he had been between them not long ago. To his left, a darkhaired woman, nude as the other, rested against his shoulder. He grinned.

He had always been a vigorous man. He enjoyed his virility, His Might, as much as women did, and he could not hide it. Never had there been a woman who had refused him... until he met Amanda. The woman was a thief... and an immortal. He had nearly arrested her, but she slipped. From then on, they bumped into each other occasionally. Then Nick was shot during a chase and his immortality was triggered.

Amanda took him under her wing as her student... and nothing else. Nick had gone slow, trying to convince her into bed. She was beautiful and enjoyed his attention and flirtings. But he made a step in the wrong direction when he tried to force her while she was having a shower. Things got rough and she nearly beheaded him but spared his life and ran away...

Nicholas was unable to get over that defeat, his ego damaged in the most painful of ways. He wandered aimlessly bars and canteens till one day, another of their kind approached. He didn't want to fight, just to talk. Drunken as he was, Nick spilt the beans of his relationship with her. The other said that might be solved... at a price...

He woke up the following day with an awful hangover... and Amanda, in all her naked glory, sleeping by him. The certainty of her caused him to jump on her and took her fiercely and without dainty. She endured him silently, her face giving away the hatred and shock, till he was done. She tried to fight then but he took her again. Amanda shook in pain again and again but her hand reached out for his sword – standing by the bed - and tried to rid of him.

Nick held her hand and pushed the blade against her own nape, still thrusting inside her, so turned on and excited he was that he didn't notice how much strength he was putting at defending himself till she cried and her neck was severed, at the very moment he was having an orgasm...

These two sluts he had by him could not compare themselves to such a glorious woman. He had enjoyed the quickie with her more than a night of lust with the duo, however reluctant to nothing they were. They could have tried his endurance, had not he sealed a deal with Ahriman.

Ever since he sold himself to Him, Nicholas found himself stronger. He had taken the stand as ruler of the world, the visible face of Ahriman. When Methos had approached him in that bar, seldom had he expected this as a result. But he couldn't complain.

He felt his body reacting again, this time shivering in thrill as he evoked how some immortals had thought they could defeat him...

-----

_Las Vegas. 2007._

Nicholas Wolfe strolled alone through the abandoned home of gambles and bets. The famine had terminated three quarters of the population, and the survivors had fled elsewhere. The casinos and hotels were closed for good. He enjoyed the doing of his master... his own doing... though it would have disgusted him once.

Then he had felt the buzzes everywhere around him. And immortals from out of the blue appeared.

The first one was a neat-looking man. Poor fool he was. He challenged him and lunged so slowly that Nick had enough time to remove a bugger off his nose, shake it off his hand, and dodge the blow from the fool.

"Who are you, pathetic worm?" he queried.

"My name is Warren Cochrane." The other replied, a neat Scottish accent revealing his origins.

"Bring it on, then."

Cochrane struck right and left, all neat and precise movements that could have caught an ordinary man. But for Nicholas, they were tortoise movements. He clenched Cochrane's wrist and snapped it. The other cried as Nicholas impaled him with his own broadsword.

A gunshot was heard and suddenly his arm burnt. He eyed farther than the corpse of the other immortal. A blonde stared acidly at him, an old and smoky Smith & Wesson in her hands. She tossed the gun and drew out a large scimitar.

"Hello, pretty." He mocked.

She stormed towards him. Her attacks were not very skilful but he knew she was good. If not in swordfighting, in other things surely. Should he keep her as a pet, he thought as he avoided her moves. No, he might find others that would be less dangerous. Pity, she looked great. She chopped but he avoided her and hooked her shoulder with his, plunging her hard against the floor. Her head hit the pavement and the neck snapped. She died.

Nick felt his back kicked and instantly turned and punched the aggressor straight in the chest, feeling his punch cracking the ribs of the other. Then he turned to face the one that had kicked him. He smirked, recognising an old familiar face.

"Jin Ke... so long..." he smirked, a furious red glimmering in his eyes.

"Ahriman... you shall be defeated as if happened before." Ke stammered, blood oozing off his mouth.

"This time you won't be there to aid the Champion..." Nick removed the broadsword off Cochrane's body and beheaded the Asian. He did likewise with the blonde and the owner of the weapon.

"Very impressive, isn't it?" a cynical voice said from further.

Nick turned as the Quickening took him. The power didn't disturb him. He felt free enough to move towards the owner of that voice as thunderbolts hit him heedlessly and a white mist surrounded him.

"Who are YOU?" he demanded with a preternatural voice, while the Quickening went off.

A bald man stood calmly staring. By him, a tall Jamaican man, a Philippine longhaired man, a slender woman with big lips and a whitehaired man stared defiantly with swords of all kinds in their hands.

"I'm Jacob Kell... and your power shall be mine."

Kell struck against him, aped by the others. Nick parried their blows without trouble, dodging, feinting and avoiding easily. Then he went to the offensive with a flurry of movements faster than light and one by one, he beheaded them all: first the man who called himself Kell, landing an upward thrust against his neck. The same lunge had finished the whitehaired man. Nick had made his sword extend farther after taking Kell's neck and caught the other unprepared. The next one was the Jamaican, who had halted in horror upon seeing his partners beheaded, and never saw Nick's rapier arching against him. The Phillipine made a suicidal attack placing himself under his blade, surely intending to slice Nick's belly, failing miserably.

Only the woman remained. He decapitated her eventually, but before ripped up at her clothes and took physical liberties on her amid the quickening. She had been a fairly good morsel and she had surely had experience, though she had cried like a virgin...

---

Nick felt the door of his suite being knocked. He rose from the bed and opened the door. He beamed lustily at his favourite mistress. A tall, darkhaired woman with a stunning pair of shiny blue eyes and a body that could hardly be matched to the one of an immortal Ahriman had ravaged years ago, in the beginning of his bond with Nicholas.

Immortals... Ahriman had tormented them for centuries. Some had dared opposing him. He had been reckless in the past and had been confined to a millenary sleep. But he had played nice against the Highlander and overcame him. MacLeod ran away... and never he returned. Would he still be alive?

She stared at him and giggled as a girl when she noticed his phallus reacting. She was a girl still in a way. She looked twenty-two and was dressed as schoolgirls used to: tartan-like short skirts covering fleshy thighs and a loose shirt opened in the middle to reveal the joint of abundant breasts. He returned to his senses upon her giggle and eyed her up and down as his tongue licked his lips.

"You two, OUT!" Nick bellowed, his voice becoming ominous and preternatural. The two hookers at the bed woke up and hurried away, naked as they were – as he was - out into the hotel's alleys.

"Finally alone..." she said naughtily.

Nicholas dragged her rudely and threw her against the bed, where he put up her skirt, gladdening upon the lack of underwear as he stroked unkindly her buttocks. He let His Might take her, as many times before. Mary Sylvie Linsey sighed and gasped, enduring his manhood deep within her, biting back pain and tears. She had sworn to defeat this mother fucker that had stripped her of everything she loved... and do whatever it took to find a way to do it...

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am aware that Nick Wolfe's personality hardly matches the character of "The Raven". However, since this is a reinterpretation as of Season 6 of the Series, I recreated the character.)_


	5. Chapter 5

**V – What Was and What Is.**

Duncan moved through the large library. Once, this place had been crowded. Now it was empty, as the rest of New York City. He had indeed seen few people since he had left the monastery. It had seemed odd enough to him that Methos had flown to Tibet and back in his own jet, and never had he made any permission call.

He found a newspaper in one of the tables. He read the title of the book in the upper margin: "The Red Tide." He would have normally thought it was a political work concerning the former Soviet Union and the threat allegedly posed by Communism, but he guessed it would serve as an explanation of what had been.

He sat down and read:

---

"_Mankind had faced its darkest hour ever. Not even when the cavemen walked, or when War was unleashed from north to south, east to west had it even undergone such a situation._

"_First the petrol and the gas were terminated. Oil refineries suddenly exploded. No longer oil was available. Mankind learned to transport itself without cars, buses and motorcycles. The bicycles ruled again, but it was a solution only for the lean and young. The obese and old found themselves stranded at home, unable to go wherever they needed._

"_Then the water supply ceased. It set the highest death rate ever. A hundred million people died all around the world, slowly and painfully. Without water, the water plants couldn't generate electricity and it brought riot and turmoil all around the world. Many died. Men perished not by hunger, not by starvation, but by other men._

"_And it went on for years. The earthly population ever decreasing, countries were forced to generate for their own needs. Without aeroplanes and electricity, international trade was impossible. Wealthy countries went broke and devastated._

"_Then the sky went red. How many suicides occurred that day, believing an apocalypse was coming? Impossible to count. Fifty thousand people, claimed the officials of the White House. It had run short surely._

"_One day, by Christmas of the year 2006, electricity returned. Inhabitants of Earth had maintained the custom of the Christmas tree, and still plugged the lights, in the hope of a miracle that would bring back the lights. They enjoyed their happiest Christmas surely._

"_The following morning, He appeared. Speaking directly from the Oval Room, a man with beard round his mouth, short hair, a worked-out complexion and charming manners, addressed the world. He claimed responsibility for the situation and demanded the world's domination. The communication was brief and plain. _

"_The Commanders-in-Chief of the world did their greatest gesture of disinterest. They gave up their power, placing the health of their citizens before their own. Very few dared opposing. An aged ruler in an isolated island refused to give up and he died soon after. Whether of natural causes or not, the successors to the late one stood down without arguing._

"_And so it began. The bearded man called himself Ahriman. The Zoroastrian theory postulates the existence of evil disguised under that name. Mankind is supposed to make good deeds to help Ahura Mazda, as one of his names is, to defeat the evil entity. But Ahura Mazda hasn't showed up._

"_He allowed us to move on. The decimated population of planet Earth slowly retook its life, not as it was, but as it could be now. Mankind scattered. A few hundred live in each city, and in some, probably only a dozen, or maybe less. Medical attention is scarce, and once simple things like the appendix means the deathblow to its bearer._

"_Even if Ahura Mazda showed up and turned down Ahriman, it will not make a difference. Mankind will never be what it was. Life will never be the same, not for a few centuries at least. And we are not immortal. We are sentenced to life by merely living. Suicide is a choice, a cowardly one, but the wisest nonetheless. "_

_---_

Duncan looked up, feeling cold and numb after reading what had been. It was appalling. He tried to rationalise an endless number of "what-ifs" to no avail. He couldn't measure up the possibilities. He stood up and began to walk around, glancing at the books on the shelves.

The place had undergone an awful ravaging by looters and other slimes. Graffiti paintings were everywhere, including the books. Those books had not been touched in a long time. He wondered if there was anyone who still came here. He wanted to see someone else.

As if summoned by thought, he heard a noise coming from a distant pile of shelves. His senses sharpened and he approached slowly towards it, carrying his katana just in case. He glanced and saw a slim shadow sneaking to the next shelves. He followed but the other was proving elusive.

He ducked next to a shelf and waited with his weapon ready to thrust should it be necessary. He felt the timid steps approaching slowly and carefully. He saw a shadow first, and then a human face jerking its head ahead to see if the stranger was still around.

Duncan jumped over that person and the other slipped and fell. Duncan aimed his katana before measuring up his company. It was a woman—not a woman, a teenager. She was probably fourteen or fifteen, she had golden hair blemished by dirt, and emerald green eyes. Fearful tears fell hopelessly round her filthy cheeks and created a little mud.

She was naked. Realising his want of physical contact with a woman, Duncan felt ignited upon the look of her developing breasts and hips, and the clarity of her loins, oh so clear amid so much dirt made him eye her up and down before conscience and morale pulled his eyes off her. He noticed she was scared... of him.

He placed his weapon over an empty table and looked around. He found a tablecloth somewhere on the floor and shook it to remove some of the dust it had. He approached the girl, who was still on the floor, and folded her in it. She shivered as he did so, staring eerily at him.

"I'm sorry." He forced a little smile. The cloth covered her some, but her left breast was still at sight. She didn't seem to notice or care. Duncan wondered what had happened to her. "Do you have a name?" She stared, obviously not understanding. He pointed at her. Then he pointed at himself. "My name is Duncan MacLeod." His finger aimed at her again. "What's your name?"

She opened her mouth and her chin quivered. Her tongue slowly moved and she struggled to articulate words. Had she ever spoken, he wondered.

Then he felt a presence approaching. He stood and got ready to grasp the katana should it be necessary. Methos walked in and seemed surprised by the girl, especially by her appearance.

"Who's she?"

"I was trying to find that out when you interrupted." Duncan protested. "And who are they?"

Behind Methos, there were a man and a woman. The woman had short black hair, blue eyes and a smirk of disgust was posed on her mid-forties face upon finding that man so close to that naked and panicked teen. The man was as puzzled by the picture but contained it even more. He was completely bald, in his fifties and wore a red tee shirt, jeans and trainers, as well as a pair of thick glasses.

"Amy Thomas... Nick Sutherland... this is Duncan MacLeod."

"Hi..." Nick replied calmly.

Amy just sneered at him, her expression changing from disgust to something between hatred and rage. Duncan offered his hand and she stared at it eerily. The Highlander didn't insist and moved to Nick, who shook it nicely.

"Amy belonged to the Watchers..." Methos explained. "Nick was married to one of us."

"The Watchers..." Duncan thought he understood Amy's reaction. "How do they work in this world?"

"They don't anymore..." Amy grunted.

"Amy and Nick are here to take care of Joe's funeral and burial." Methos interceded before she punched him. She had reasons enough, though he knew that if she knew the entire story, it would be the Highlander who would have to curb her.

"What about us?"

"Like I told you... we have to get help..." Methos turned and moved towards the door. "And we're off to get it."

"What about the girl?" Duncan spoke worriedly. Methos felt a surge of hope upon seeing the Highlander so concerned about others.

"They will stay with her. She can't come where we are coming..."


	6. Chapter 6

_Contains a little sex scene somewhat explicit... discretion advised.._

**VI – Strangers.**

_Havana, Cuba._

In a comfortable double bed, the woman and the man were interlocked in the sexual act. He lay with his chest to the roof, and she was on him, half stood, her hands on her head, a short dress barely covering her body, which squirmed in pleasure as his manhood was inside her. He stroked her sweaty belly, then moved to her firm breasts, ripping apart at the dress. His fingers toyed with her turned-on nipples before they raised to her mouth, where she licked and bit them.

He felt the blood leaving them slowly and then felt even more excited when she licked the red liquid. Her palms left her blonde short hair and clawed against his chest. She scratched his chest and it bled a little. He hissed. A silent act compared to the moans and gasps of the last hours.

She continued swaying against him and soon she was done too. She got off and lay by him, sucking the semi-dry blood she had drawn out of his chest, as she fiddled with his long hair. He giggled boyishly and stroked her hair.

"My Queen..." he hissed.

"That's right, my Pawn." She whispered firmly. "I am your Queen. Will you do anything for me? When the time comes to fight Him?" she said, fixing her black eyes in his lean face.

"I will." He said meekly.

"Good... now..." she mounted him, this time letting her back face him. "I want more..."

The man laughed, feeling fit enough to continue. He pushed her against the bed, rudely as she liked, and obeyed...

-----

_New Jersey._

Once a glorious city, New Jersey was now as many of the other once-great cities. As in everywhere, the few survivors occupied the city obscenely. The once-wealthy citizens, now turned into beggars as most of the Earth population, were gathered in the same place: a five-star hotel. Not because of the comfortableness of it, but because the only fridge and oven that still worked in the entire city was there.

Three men, all with beard and long hair, all of middle age, were close to a fire that had been lit up recently. The heating device had finally given up, after years of struggling by itself without maintenance. And it was cold, appallingly cold.

By them, their wives and two children shared the fire. One of them had lost a brother recently to famine, but it had been agreed not to ever mention it, just to remember the old days when the late one was still by them.

"This can't be. We will all die eventually!" one of them, an Ottawa-born man protested. He had been born in poverty, and worked his way to success. He hated to see his family in that situation. "We have to face him!"

Nobody nodded. It was popular that those that had dared opposing Ahriman had died horribly. They were afraid to die, and they were uncertain. What lay ahead of them? They didn't know and they didn't care.

"It's futile."

The one who spoke was known as the Silent. It was a slender, really beautiful woman, whose looks were not tarnished by the ever-present dirt. Born in other times, she could have been a supermodel. She had never spoken, and always dwelt there without contact with any of them. Till now.

"And how d'you know that?"

"Because you will die if he touches you. And so will they."

"But something has to be done!"

"I know, but we can't do it."

"What do you know?" Another man who was also isolated from the others spoke. He was a septuagenarian, a NAM veteran, who still carried a couple of guns and the built of other times. The built was result of habit. The guns... he could never be too safe when poverty and need were everywhere.

The woman woke up, and approached them. She wore a long cape, one she had surely stolen from a museum. Her eyes, now they noticed, were blue and peculiarly beckoning. "He's too powerful for any of you to defeat him."

"And who can?" the NAM veteran barked.

"Only one person can... the Champion."

"The Silent is crazy!" One of the kids yelled.

"I'm not!" she protested. "Ahriman is a devil, usurping a body that cannot be hurt."

"And what then?" the man that had spoken first asked.

"We do nothing." She said silently.

"I refuse to accept that!" The man bellowed. The NAM veteran joined him and both started an animated conversation about how to bring Ahriman down. She eyed them sadly as she returned to her dark corner. Poor mortals, she thought. They still have hope...

-----

_Somewhere over the Atlantic._

Methos was leading the jet calmly through the clouds. In all his years, Duncan had never seen the clouds from such a height. He had taken flights, but they were commercial flights, bound by certain limits and regulations. Methos wasn't.

"What's up with that Amy?" Duncan queried, trying to converse something.

"You were Joe's best friend. You left without a trace and returned only now that he was to die. And she meets you with that naked girl..." Methos replied, letting the words dangle.

"But that's something between Joe and I..." Duncan insisted.

"So it was between Kanwulf and Ian MacLeod..."

"That's not the..." Duncan felt his breath shorten. "She is...?" He stood up, left the comfortable passenger room and joined Methos in the cabine. "Joe's daughter?"

"_Oui_." Methos smirked. "Add to that that she doesn't have the chance to meet immortals very often."

"Really?" Duncan stared at the night sky. "Methos..." Duncan halted, looking for the words. "You know, when I was younger, there was a woman... I've always tried to find her but..."

"Your wife maybe? Catherine Devaney?"

"Yes..."

"She died. I don't know the circumstances." Methos lied. Telling the Highlander the truth of what had happened to his former wife, who was in Jacob Kell's company when he faced Ahriman in Las Vegas, would do no good.

"I feared so..." Duncan stammered, his voice quivering. "It's been a long time..."

"I've lived ten times that, MacLeod." Methos chuckled. "I've seen more than you could ever imagine... and endured more."

"Were you ever taken by a dark Quickening?" Duncan nearly challenged.

"Did you ever slay villages?" Methos chanted back.

"Have you ever murdered someone you loved?" Duncan seemed excited with this ghastly game they had involuntarily started playing.

"Have you...?" They both broke into laughter, not considering there was hardly anything funny in telling of the atrocities they had committed in their lifetimes.

"Do you think he knows...?" Duncan questioned when the laughter was over.

"No." Methos sobered. "Ahriman's omnipresence seems to be gone when he is in possession of a body. I couldn't feel where you were, or anybody else."

"So we have the element of surprise."

"In a way. But Ahriman's not my sole concern."

Duncan didn't like Methos's gloomy voice, but he chose not to insist. He returned to the passenger room where he took a glass and served some burgundy in it. He sat down comfortably and sipped.

"Methos!"

"What?"

"What was it like to have her back?"

Silence filled the room. Only the whistle of the wind and the barely audible noise of the jet engine could be heard. Duncan gazed out to see the sun erupting gloriously from the horizon. It was the first time he had the chance to see a dawn from a plane.

"It was the best and the worst thing that could happen to me. And I knew it all the time."

Duncan glanced back at Methos before returning to the marvel before his eyes. In the cabin, Methos started the descent, and as the plane went down, so did the tears in his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII – Failed Resistance.**

_Göteburg, Sweden_.

Snow fell relentlessly down the city. There was no movement in the streets, or in the houses. What once had been the capital of the country was now an abandoned place. In the most important avenue, echoes could be heard though. They could be traced almost a kilometre to a large gym, equipped with the latest technological advances before Ahriman's rule.

Four people were gathered there. A well-built man with long black hair, wearing only a pair of trousers, was lifting weights. Nearby, a woman with curly brown hair was breaking a sweat hitting the bag. Sweat tripped down her white sweatshirt, which became translucent and allowed her nipples to be seen. The man was intent on them, but feigned not to notice for courtesy.

In the middle of the gym, two men observed each other. Carefully, measuring up each other, they circled around with swords in their hands. Neither of them wanted to make the first move. One of them, a man seemingly in his late thirties, feigned forward but retreated. This caused his opponent, a young-looking handsome man with razed hair, to strike ahead, delivering a lash against the other. The older man parried the blow and punched in the face the younger-looking one.

The other staggered back. The man jabbed the other one's belly and as the other squirmed, kicked him hard in the face. A whine was heard when the younger one's neck hit the floor.

"Cassius is at it again."

The man at the weights left his exercise and stood near the woman, commenting charmingly. The woman nodded carelessly and continued punching. She was beautiful. But she didn't seem interested in him. The man he had called Cassius approached.

"This kid needs to learn too much, Matthew."

"I know, Cassius."

"Son of a bitch!" The defeated man rose, his mouth made a mess of blood. "He broke my teeth!" He grinned, and indeed, his two upper front teeth were elsewhere.

"Calm down, Corey. We need no problems here." Matthew went to calm him down. Corey was at the point of tears, as the other tried hard to soothe him.

"That kid is a problem..." Cassius commented.

"We must get all the help we can if we are to stand a chance against Ahriman." She replied, brushing the sweat off his forehead. She moved closer. "Two hours after dusk?" Her voice had a certain teasing tone.

He glanced at her nipples and at the curve the sweatshirt produced between her small breasts. "Yes." He grunted before reluctantly going to apologise to Corey.

---

_Somewhere at night._

In the showers, no water ran. Except for Cassius and the woman's sweat. They had been lovers in other times. They had met again in this new world, devastated by Ahriman, where they had found Matthew, who was training to defeat Ahriman. They had joined him. And in the barren Göteburg, the fire had been lit on again.

They had fornicated for almost an hour. And he was tired. Though he wouldn't admit it to her, so he had gone at her knees to please her with his mouth, in the meantime gaining time to strengthen up. He liked her voice, even more when she moaned as she did now.

Then they had felt it. An immortal. But it was not just the presence of an immortal approaching nearby. There was something else which panicked them. Cassius' mouth stopped its doing and he stared from between her legs at his lover. She glared back and closed her legs.

They dressed up as soldiers prone to fulfil an obligation, without paying heed to each other, as if nothing was going on between them. They picked up their swords, his a _gladius_, hers a rapier, and they walked on to the street.

The ending of the quickening stunned them. Blue bolts hit a body kneeling on the street, which had its upper hand raised to the heavens, and its lower hand stuck to his chest.

She hoisted her weapon.

"Alexi..." Cassius whispered. "Wait."

She scowled at her lover. "Cassius... why?"

"We don't know who he is. Or whose head he took."

The quickening was over. Cassius stepped forward, pacing slowly towards that immortal who was standing up slowly, an eerie laughter coming from him. Behind him, Alex followed, devoured by anxiety.

"Who are you?" Cassius demanded.

The stranger was engulfed in darkness. All they could see was that he was tall, 0shorthaired and lean.

"These two" he pointed at two headless corpses at his feet, one of them ran through with a sword "asked the same before... if I tell you, I shall have to kill you." The voice sounded almost wicked.

"And why is that?" Cassius suppressed the killing instinct forged over more than two thousand years of age.

"Because my name shalt not be spelt ever."

"Ooh... how scary!" Cassius mocked.

"And who are you, clown?"

"I'm Cassius Polonius."

"Polonius, eh?" the stranger replied. "And the charming lady is...?"

"Alex Raven." She was to speak but he did it for her, something she didn't like.

"Ah, the Jew-avenger rider!"

"Aye." She answered, wondering how come the other knew that. "And why is your name so... forbidden?"

"Because He might hear it."

"He?"

"He..." his voice went down to a whisper. "AHRIMAN!" It surged to a scream.

"And why...?"

"It doesn't matter. I will face him... and to that, I need your quickenings."

"One against one. Those are the Rules." Alex replied. "Or you'll take us both?"

"If you like..." he giggled.

"No." Cassius turned to shield Alex from his sight. "Leave." He said tenderly. "There's a jeep parked two blocks from here... it has gasoline and a couple of barrels in case it runs out of it. I tried it. It still works."

"Cassius, you're scaring me..." Alex's voice broke.

"This guy got rid of the other two. Raines was a whim, but McCormick was a skilled fighter. I'm not afraid to die but... I don't want you dead."

"Cass—" he kissed her softly and briefly before she could finish her sentence.

"Go!"

Alex Raven turned, glanced back at him and stormed away. Hearing the clamouring swords collide, she ran the two blocks and found the jeep Cassius mentioned. As every vehicle in the city, it had the keys on. She tried the engine. It worked perfectly. She gassed it and sped away, not looking back, sensing only the quickening of her lover leave his body and cry her a last farewell...


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII – Darkness & Light.**

_Dortmund, Germany._

Methos had made the plane land in an open space in something resembling a cemetery. Duncan didn't want to think how many tombstones the older immortal had ran over with the jet wheels, or the resting place of how many people had been desecrated by such action.

The door opened and Duncan climbed off the jet. He looked around without moving, noticing that there had been no graves in that space. His concern had been relieved though he still wondered what they were doing there.

"This way..."

Methos whispered as he stiffly moved towards a small mausoleum without doors. Duncan noticed Methos carried his sword. It was holy ground, so why? He gulped his doubts and followed.

They entered the mausoleum, where the large statue of a hawk sculpted in stone was all they found. Methos grabbed the peck of it and pulled it down. They heard something moving and suddenly a secret passage dug in the floor to the statue's left opened.

Methos stuck a hand in his coat and produced a large halogen lamp. He turned it on and showed the way. Duncan followed, trying to guess where they were heading. They climbed down a rustic group of stairs till they reached a passage illuminated only by the lamp.

"Methos..."

"Shut up, Highlander. I'm trying to think." Methos gave a step forward, then another. He looked around to then extend his sword forward, trying the floor. "It's safe."

They continued. Duncan felt the air was short and vitiated of dust. The path was long and wide and it abruptly ended about a hundred metres later in a large hole. There already, Methos lit down, seeing nothing in the circle of light.

"What now?"

"I don't like this." Methos whispered angrily. "A staircase was supposed to be clung to one of the walls here."

"So..."

"This means we jump."

"Jump?" Duncan queried, not daring to think how deep it would be.

"Yes." Methos mused before he jumped, his arms extended in a way that his body formed a cross that disappeared as the air inflated his coat.

Duncan found himself amid darkness. He hesitated. He would not be able to return without his friend so he took air and jumped into the hole too...

-----

_Night became day and night again. The sun went up and down, leaving the dominion of the sky to his younger sister the Moon. Draught and scarcity flooded everything. Amid the desert, she could feel the cold scorching through her skin. She was small and panicky, and she ran away, not certain of who or what._

_Suddenly the sky turned red and she halted. A wicked, evil laughter blasted her head and she went on her knees, feeling numb everywhere. She felt her arms pulled aside and her legs spread open and then an unfathomable pain running through her..._

-----

_New York City._

"Hey, sweetie. Wake up."

The girl opened her eyes and found the shorthaired woman gazing affectionately at her. She sat up as the other removed the hair off her face. She yawned and after pulling off the sheets, left the bed, about to leave the room. But the woman stood before her and the door.

"No." She smiled, holding a small red dress in her hands. "You must learn to use clothes."

The girl shook her head.

"And bathe."

She tried to get the girl into the dress but she slipped from her and ran, nude as she was, out into the living room of the house she, Amy and Nick were sharing. Nick was having a cup of coffee and gazed at the girl naturally. He had felt queasy and uncomfortable at first, but it had become a routine to him. Amy always failed to get her dressed.

The girl went behind him and giggled as she embraced him. He smiled.

"Take a bath, darling." He said tenderly. He gazed at the girl, who was smiling and shaking her head from under his right arm. "Yes... bath."

She still refused, so Nick picked her up, loaded her on his shoulders and dragged her upstairs into the bathroom, where a tin full of warm water awaited her, and where he left her in. She wailed in complaint but soon Amy appeared and started rubbing her with foam.

Eventually, the girl quitted and gave in to her fate. The water wasn't that bad. She let her shampoo her hair and wash her. Amy was humming something, a tune the girl had heard before somewhere. She tried to hum like the woman, but her mouth was underwater and the bubbles surprised her.

Amy giggled and so did she. Nick appeared by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Is all OK?"

"Yeah. She tried to hum." Amy commented motherly.

"Where will they be now?" Nick wondered.

"I don't know. But I hope they return soon... or they'll miss the burial..."

-----

_Havana, Cuba._

Inside an abandoned hotel, the shorthaired blonde left the shower. She dried her nearly perfect shape with it, enjoying her own touch. She hung the towel back, and left the bathroom for the bedroom. In the bed, her Pawn slept fitfully. She grinned and approached.

She caressed his toe and her hand went slowly up his body. It passed his knee and halted at the waist, trying to ignite a reaction, which she did. It continued up the stomach and chest, to then end in his mouth. His lips she stroked delicately. His eyes seemed to open partially.

"My Pawn..." she hissed.

He woke up and stared submissively. "Yes, my Queen."

"The time has come."

"The time?" he asked.

"Yes." She suddenly produced a Japanese _katana_ from under the bed and waved it dangerously near his throat. "We are going to face Him."


	9. Chapter 9

**IX – A Place of Rest.**

_Dortmund, Germany._

He woke up, trying to remember for how long he had fallen before hitting the stony ground harshly and dying. He found a path lit up by torches on both sides, lighting the way. He stood and found Methos by him, calmly awaiting him.

"Methos, what is this?"

"This place is called Sanctuary." Methos drew out his sword. "It's a shelter built below holy ground." He moved through the path, halting to grasp a torch before continuing. "It'd been moved every two or three years everywhere around the world."

"Shelter? For whom?"

Then he felt the announcement of immortals nearby buzzing within his head. More than one surely, how many, he could not tell. Duncan drew out his sword, still uncertain of why.

"Immortals, MacLeod. People who grew to abhor the bloodshed and looked for a place to rest. Like you did."

The path ended and it slumped down, becoming full of soil. They traipsed over it, heading to a clear spot where Duncan could see strange boxes arranged in a circle. The boxes were made of wood, large as coffins but open. Inside each of them, there was a person with his eyes closed, his arms and nose plugged to an IV cable connected to a strange machine in the centre.

"But this is..." Duncan felt appalled. "They are sleeping?"

"Drug-induced sleep." Methos pointed at a shadow not far from the circle. Duncan noticed with repulsion that it was a corpse with a bullet in the forehead. "That man was barely forty and he kept them sleeping. Evidently someone came here before we did."

"That means they might wake up any second now."

"Indeed." Methos inspected the warehoused immortals, one by one.

"That's Brian Cullen!!" Duncan cried when the other passed by a man in a straight-jacket and a beard longer than the one Duncan had in Tibet.

"Shhh. Yes, he is." Methos placed a finger over his own lips.

"There's someone missing there." Duncan pointed at an empty box, vertically placed as the others. A straight-jacket lay on the floor, stained with blood.

"So I noticed." Methos was almost angry. "And it seems it was the one we were looking for."

"Who was it?" Duncan queried, recognising most of the other immortals.

A dim whine stunned them. Duncan turned. Aside from the others, there was a small coffin perched to the floor. In it, there was a small shape. A small hand was moving. He drew nearer until he was close enough. It was a boy, a blond boy with astoundingly long hair. He hissed acidly.

"He's waking up, isn't he?"

"Yes, MacLeod." Methos clenched his fist around his sword.

"We can't leave him here..." Duncan mumbled. He glanced back at the others, who were lost under Morpheus' and the drug's spell. Concern was in his face.

"We can't bring them all with us."

"If we wait till they wake up... Kiem Sun's knowledge of herbs would help us. Brian's a fine warrior too..." Duncan tried to argue with Methos, whose face frowned more and more.

"And you know when they'll wake up?" Methos hissed.

Duncan released the blond boy, and cradled him off his stretcher. He stared at Methos, whose sword was glistening in the half-obscurity. The Highlander knew he could never be certain of how long would it take for the effects of the drug to be over and felt a queasy knot in his stomach when he realised what Methos was about to do.

"Methos... this is holy ground." Duncan stammered.

"It's not, Duncan." The Highlander didn't like being called by his first name by the older immortal. "I said it's built below holy ground. And even so, the territory of the cemetery ends at the hole."

Duncan welled up all his will and strength to witness Methos. The ancient immortal landed his sword before it went up and slashed the head of one of the immortals. Then the next, and so on for the other four immortals that were still there. All the while he tried to convince himself that they couldn't have brought them but surety was not complete.

In his arms, the boy woke up. His eyes noticed the beginning of the multiple quickening and he shivered.

"Calm down, Kenny." Duncan hissed detachedly. "Much worse has gone on lately..."

----

_New Jersey._

The Silent had given up. She had grown weary of all the plotting of the two mortals, of their plans to commit suicide against Ahriman. He pitied them and at the same time envied them. They lacked the wisdom of age to realise there was no hope... and wished she lacked it too.

She strolled in the dark streets by herself. It was a windy night and she shielded herself in her cape. The headlights illuminated the way. Where would she go and what would she do?

"Ooh, look what the wind brought!"

The comment came from her left. Perched by the door of what had been a liquor store, three men, all dishevelled, dirty and ill-looking, admired the view without shame. She glanced at them without a gesture and carried on.

She only felt the hideous stench of booze and caught a glimpse of something large approaching before she felt pushed to the floor. She hissed as the men made her turn. One of them held her arms at bay, while another tried to get to her breasts and the third one struggled with the buttons of her worn-out jeans.

"NO!!" she cried aloud. She would never endure it again. The nightmares afterwards had been more shattering than the rape itself. She couldn't let them, not until she avenged herself. She focused, trying to concentrate her special ability. She had not used it in more than twenty years. And now her mind was befuddled by fear.

"Hey!"

The man at her legs had succeeded with the jeans, but he was only lowering them to her knees when someone dragged him away. The one that had been busy cutting open her tee shirt and fondling her bosom was kicked away. The one that held her released her to try to help his friends.

The NAM veteran from the hotel clenched his fists as he awaited him. The Silent covered herself with the cape, shivering in dread, as she stared how the septuagenarian made a red mess of the pig's face. He smiled in delight, but only for a second. The bastard that had been kicked had risen and stabbed him in the back with a Swiss-army knife.

The veteran turned and delivered an astounding punch on the other's face. Blood oozed off the bastard's face as the veteran tried to oppose him, moribund as he was. The killer attacked him. The veteran fought him back as he could, relentlessly till the wound, not the opponent, defeated him and he fell dead.

"Come here, bitch." The dude called, sticking a hand under his jeans to fondle himself.

She glared at him and at the other two, who were slowly regaining their feet. Her eyes examined them before they landed on the corpse. That man had saved her, and had fought till the end. Knowing he was dead, he had still fought.

She hurriedly put up her trousers and stood up, careless of her exposed breasts. She closed her eyes for a second, evoking the memories of centuries ago. They opened. They gave a bluish glimmer for a second and the assaultants halted in awe and fear. She stuck a hand inside her cape and into a hidden pocket within it. He produced something that baffled them: a large sword.

They tried to turn and run, but they only succeeded in the former. She reached them and killed them at cold-blood, viciously, angrily, enjoying every blow, cutting their bodies more and more no matter how long they had been dead. Minutes later, when the lust had been satiated, and her composure regained, she quitted. She eyed the remnants of what had been bodies, now pieces of flesh scattered here and there, folded in cloth and skin. The blood...

She smiled. She had released her anger and frustration on them. Now only hope remained, the hope brought by a mere mortal who had proved wiser than she had been. The Champion, Duncan MacLeod, would defeat Ahriman. But he would need her help.

She dragged the corpse two blocks back to a park, where she dug up a hole with her hands and sword, and buried her saviour. She chanted spells she had thought forgotten to bless his final place of rest and pray his soul passed safely to the Other Side. She made up a cross with two pieces of metal to signal the grave.

She headed to New York. She gave one last glance at the grave of the man, realising she had not learned his name...


	10. Chapter 10

**X - Collision.**

_Dortmund, Germany._

Methos was flying the jet at low height. Below, the empty road stretched eastward and westward. In the passenger room, Kenny was savouring a glass of brandy. His hair was tied and he was dressed in a shirt and a pair of jeans the jet owner had stolen from a shop. Not that anyone would notice, anyway.

The kid was shocked. He had awoken to see Methos receive a multiple quickening. Afterward, he had left Sanctuary to find Germany was a ghost country, with hardly anyone still alive. And by him was Duncan MacLeod, one of the persons he hated the most. And he had just learned what had gone on. Planet Earth was just as he had left it, only that less than a tenth of the population was still alive.

"Are you OK, lad?" Duncan queried.

"Yeah..." the reply was distant " just a little baffled."

"It happens." Duncan gazed at the sight of the skyscrapers faraway. "And why were you there?"

"Amanda."

"What with her?" Duncan felt his blood coarsening.

"I couldn't get over her death." Kenny spoke without malice, like a kid.

"Death?" Duncan felt his heart sinking. "When? How?"

"Ahriman." Methos was the one who answered.

Silence followed. As soon as he could not to concern the others, Duncan moved away and hid in the bathroom, where tears rolled down helplessly. Memories of the days shared gripped him. He remembered laughing on a river's edge, trying to make her jump with her. She agreed, then changed her mind. If he had not dragged her in with him, she would have let him dive without her.

He felt a motor whirring below fast and the presence of an immortal as well. He knew Methos had felt it too, for the plane was going down. The landing caught him unawares and he revolted a bit in the place. He left and found the doors open. Kenny was clung to his seat. He glanced at the kid, who shook his head and nodded him outside. Duncan grasped his _katana_ and left the plane.

Methos stood sword in hand in the middle of the road. Duncan heard distantly a motor vehicle approaching. Suddenly a jeep appeared before him, speeding towards him. The older immortal didn't seem to mind. He just stood calmly, his sword between his palms, its tip to the floor.

The jeep approached. Duncan made out the faintest image of the driver. Longhaired, pretty. Duncan knew her. The woman behind the wheel carried on, going closer and closer to Methos. Then her eyes opened wide and she stepped on the brake. The jeep's frontal wheels halted, squelching maddeningly and the vehicle turned over in the air, sending her away through the air. It turned over itself a few times as it left the track, and collided against a tree, catching fire fast.

Methos had gone to help the driver, who had landed near him, hurt but sound. She gazed at him and smirked sorely.

"Adam..."

"Are you OK, Alexi?" Methos queried with concern.

"Yes." She was helped to her feet. "I was..." Duncan approached, smirking at the woman he had met once... a long time ago. She beamed back in recognition. "Hello, stranger."

"Hello." Duncan nodded with a charming grin. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Alex Raven..." she gasped, still a little sore.

"And where were you going at full speed through an empty road of Dortmund?" Methos inquired. He eyed the jeep, turned over and slowly catching fire. "With a jeep that worked." It came out almost as a reprimand.

Alex exposed the facts as they happened in Göteburg: the four immortals, and that stranger that brought them all down. She omitted her involvement with Cassius. However close she had been to Adam in the past, it was nothing of his concern, as their relationship hadn't been to Cassius.

"And this guy simply says: I can't say my name 'cuz he might hear it?"

They were back at the jet. Kenny had listened to the rant too and couldn't suppress a smile. Alex shot him with her eyes.

"Yes." she replied calmly.

She studied the others. The kid, of whom Alex had heard to be 800 years old, seemed amused. MacLeod was somewhat puzzled. And Adam looked concerned. She measured him up, trying to figure out if he knew something else that he was not telling. He caught his eyes and nodded.

"I don't like it." Methos hissed aloud.

"You have any idea of who that immortal might be?"

"Yes, MacLeod, I might." Methos closed the jet door and headed towards the cabin. "But let's not discuss that. We have a funeral to attend."

Kenny glanced at Duncan, who accepted the resolution without argument. His eyes posed on the woman, so pretty as many others he had met, none of which he had ever been with. He had never had the chance of being with a real woman, only in his imagination.

"Adam..." she spoke calmly. "You know his name, don't you?"

The plane took off. But the reply didn't came in the entire trip back to New York...

-----

_New York._

Nicholas Wolfe lay in the cold water, which had been hotter not long ago. He stared at his Might, who seemed to be at rest after some exercise. His eyes moved to his left, where his favourite mistress was, her naked curves being towelled dry by another woman, a redhaired female in her early forties, who was as clothed as they were.

She seemed distant lately. The act had been pleasing but she had not seemed as turned-on as she should have been. She had wailed and moaned. If he had lacked confidence, he would have thought she had been faking. Probably what she needed was a change.

"The paper!" he demanded.

The redhaired vanished instantly. He stared at the darkhaired he desired so much. Her eyes vacantly replied. She seemed tired, not as physically as psychically. Seconds later, the redhead came back, bringing back the weekly edition of the New York Times, the only newspaper he still allowed to work. His reasons had been simple: he liked the name.

He read the headings, which seemed a police chronicle of another age. John died of starvation, Paul of some disease, Ringo of old age, and George of loneliness. He wondered why he still wasted his time in it. He tossed the paper away and glanced at the two women. His eyes glimmered of red and he smirked lecherously.

The redhead left the towel, but her bare hand carried on at the darkhaired's breasts. The other caught her neck and brought the red's face to his. They kissed long and wildly. The older woman's hand moved knowingly down through the younger one's belly. The younger one stirred and hissed as the red-haired's mouth was on her breasts. She gave a glance to Nicholas.

He was paying no heed to them. Something in the paper had caught his attention. She dared not try to guess what could have made his face gain such a surprised and ... panicked expression? She smiled, both for the other's games and for the hope brought by something that Ahriman feared...

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I stole a couple of lines from the song "Dublin Sky", by Darren Hayes. The idea came from Neodevilbane's video in YouTube... "Highlander: Dublin Sky," using the same song.)_


	11. Chapter 11

**XI – In the Cemetery.**

_New York City._

It was a sunny day. Inside the cemetery, Nick, Amy and the girl were standing solemnly in front of Joe Dawson's grave. He was dressed in suit and tie, while the girls wore black elegant dresses. Surprisingly, the youngest of them had not complained about wearing it, and had even agreed to bathe. Her blonde hair had been tied in a ponytail and Amy had even put some lipstick on her lips. Besides them, Doctor Anne Linsey bid her farewells to Joe as well. Silently, not saying a word to the others, completely detached from that party.

The girl looked away and noticed people coming. She tugged at Amy's sleeve and she turned. Duncan and Adam were approaching, each carrying a bunch of flowers in hands. Behind them, a boy and a woman. She thought the boy was the infamous Kenneth. But the woman she couldn't be certain of who she was.

She glimpsed at Nick, who seemed suddenly angry at something. He had produced a pistol. How dare he brought such device to the burial of his... father?!

"Nick?"

"That bitch..." he cursed as he loaded the weapon.

The arrived were by them. Methos stepped ahead. Nick tried to pull him out of the way to have a clean shot but the immortal clenched his wrist and made it twist. The gun fell meekly as Nick squirmed in pain.

"Well, well, I know you, don't you?" Alex queried.

"You do, you goddamn fucking whore!" Nick replied.

"What's going on here?" Duncan asked casually.

"I took his wife's head." Alex blurted out. "I didn't want to fight, but she insisted."

Duncan chose to pay no heed to them and approached Amy, who stared reluctantly at him.

"I'm sorry." He offered the roses. She beamed shyly and looked away, tears running to her eyes. He gazed at the girl. "Hello, bonnie." She smiled and blushed.

Methos released Nick and let him cool off.

"This is neither the time nor the place. We are here to pay our respects."

Kenny waved at Anne. She smirked back, to which he didn't seem surprised. He had not been nice to her in the past. He glanced at the grave of the old bearded man. Kenny remembered him.

"You couldn't find him, could you?"

Methos stared down at Amy's question. He shook his head. Then they all felt it. One by one, the immortals felt their heads spin sickeningly upon the presence of other immortals. But they were not common. They all knew it, but they could not be certain of how.

They turned. Treading down the green path, neatly dressed in a brown polo tee shirt and black trousers, wielding in his hands a large broadsword, Nicholas Wolfe nonchalantly moved slowly towards them, his arm clung to the beauty and sexiness of his favourite mistress, whose hips waved indecorously and whose face was made up goth-like.

Duncan drew out his _katana_ and moved past the others. Behind him, Alex and Methos produced their own weapons. The mortals and Kenny were left behind. Nicholas halted at a point and whispered something to his mistress, who halted there, to then approach the immortals.

"Duncan MacLeod!" Nicholas smiled at Duncan as one would at an old acquaintance. "I had the feeling I would find some of them here, but not you!" Duncan sneered back. "Tell me, Highlander. Where have you been? Buried underground perhaps, mourning the death of the kid..." Nicholas looked to the sky, his thumb and index forming a V by his chin, as if he were thinking. "Which was his name?"

"Richie." Duncan replied furiously.

"Ah, Richie." Nicholas' hand opened wide. "He was a nice kid... I bet you enjoyed the Quickening."

The _katana_ spun in Duncan's hands before the Highlander sent a flurry of blows towards Nicholas. Ahriman's dwelling dodged them easily before retreating to take distance.

"Duncan..." Nicholas lowered his guard as he teased nonchalantly. "You really want to embarrass yourself before your friends?" Then he struck a blow that Duncan blocked at his waist, but whose strength sent him backwards. "What would the lovely Dr. Linsey would say if she saw you defeated? Or my former host?"

"Cut the crap, Ahriman." Methos stepped forward, unfolding his weapon.

"Nah, Methos... oops, did I mention your true name?" Nicholas feigned repentance with a broad smile. Above them, the sky began to cloud.

Duncan attacked again. Nicholas blocked once and again, easily moving till he seemed to grow bored. He feigned a counterattack to which Duncan reacted. Then, with the Highlander's guard elsewhere, he slit viciously his belly. Duncan fell defeated.

"You... can't..." Duncan gasped.

"Holy ground? My ass!" Nicholas grunted as his arms began to arch upward to deliver the deathblow.

The squawk of a crow deafened them all. Thunder sounded preternaturally. A dim whistle followed, becoming louder and louder. Behind Nicholas, a black shape appeared, approaching faster than a cannonball, something large and narrow glistening in it. Nicholas raised his sword to parry the downward chop against his head and the black shape arched its body to curb itself as it passed by. It was a longhaired man, who sneered at Ahriman's host, with his right arm above his head and his left aimed at Nicholas.

"I know this guy." Kenny called out. "He was there with me!"

Duncan leapt aside and observed the newcomer. His chin quivered and his breath shortened. He thought he knew that man, but his face was shielded by the abundant hair that man had.

"Hello, Ahriman."

The preternatural voice spoke from behind them all. The blonde with short hair moved past Joe's grave, the mortals and Kenny. She looked down at Alex and held Methos' gaze as she passed. The crow she carried on her left shoulder eyed them all fatally.

"Rose, what are you doing here?" Methos queried.

The woman turned, her body covered with black tight leathers. She smiled seductively at him, with a certain fondness that could not be overlooked.

"I am going to defeat him." The voice was charming if determined.

"Last time it cost you dearly." Nicholas commented acidly. "Have you forgotten that already, Roxheanna?"

"It was a long time ago, Ahriman." Rose replied with a weird confident smile.

She smiled at the one who had saved Duncan. He charged forward. His movements were fast and neat, full of elegance and efficacy. Yet they were still not enough. Nicholas easily dodged most of them, and deflected off the rest.

Then he went forward. To his surprise, the stranger parried his blows, not without trouble. But he still did. Up, down, right, left. He was a fast croak. Who was he?

He landed a massive chop against the other's blade and the other countered with a slash aimed at Nicholas' shoulder, failed by narrow margin. Ahriman slumped forward and lashed with superhuman strength at the other, who opposed his blade, which flew off his gloved hands, darting elsewhere.

A cry was heard and everybody turned. Even Nicholas seemed to forget the fight. Anne lay on the floor with the _katana_ stuck in her chest. She breathed with agitation as Methos and Alex rushed to help her. Nicholas burst into harsh laughter. Rose glanced at him disapprovingly before staring detachedly at the funeral party.

"OK, I'll let you take care of the nice Dr. Linsey." He cried aloud.

With those words, as if it was only a friendly football game, Nicholas paced away. He went past his mistress. Her face was teary and fraught with repugnance. Not understanding why (and not caring either), he grasped her rudely and rubbed her buttocks obscenely as they walked away.

Methos left Anne in hands of Nick, who had apparently inherited some medical knowledge from his late wife, and stood near Rose, measuring her up. She gazed at him.

"He can't be defeated like this." He complained. "This time it's different."

"We simply missed our chance." She said simply after some moments. "We're leaving."

Rose turned away. Her companion rose and started to follow, leaving his sword behind. He went past Methos without paying any heed to him. Methos turned to watch him leave. Then he went to help Duncan to his feet. The Highlander had frozen after seeing Anne wounded.

"Will she be OK?" he pleaded with his eyes for an affirmative reply.

Methos turned back despondently. Alex had brought Amy's car, a Ford Falcon from the 1980's that Nick had tinkered till it worked, and the three of them were placing Anne in the backseat. Kenny looked scared after what had been. Methos' eyes posed on the girl. She looked calm after all that had been undergone. Extremely calm. She noticed him and grinned. He exerted himself the most to reply likewise, though he wondered what sort of creature could be so calm after such a moment.

His eyes flew to his own right hand, where he held the _katana_ he had withdrawn from Anne. Rose had somehow gained a very powerful ally. How that man had become so submissively hers was yet to be known. But they would have to resurrect the man within him. He was a crucial element if they were to win.

That sword had belonged to a friend of his, who had mentored Rose's pawn. If Rose had him, that meant she had perfected her inherent special abilities. To overcome them, Methos would have to resort to someone who wanted him dead. And that would still not be enough. He observed the delicate ornate of the hilt and grinned at the irony of it. The pawn would need to be as strong and wilful as the very animal carved in the grip: a tiger. Or hope would fade away as he had...


	12. Chapter 12

**XII – Reunion.**

Methos was administering some ancient medicine to Anne, who yelped in pain in one of the bedrooms of the large house they had occupied. At the living room, sitting in comfortable black leather sofas, bearing the doctor's dolorous cries, Alex, Amy, Nick, Duncan, Kenny and the girl sat in concern. Methos had told them to steer clear of the room. He needed to focus.

Alex was huddled against the left corner of the sofa she was in. She had escaped from Sweden, driven non-stop to Germany till she flew off her jeep... literally. From there, another flight to New York, and the tension of encountering the dreadful Ahriman. Exhaustion had taken over. Sitting as she was, she was trying to doze.

In the same sofa, Amy glanced at her. He didn't know who this woman was, or which was her connection to Joe... his father, or to the others. But she guessed that she couldn't be that bad if she was with the Highlander and with Adam, a man she had met recently as an old friend of the late one. She was almost sure that he was Adam Pierson, a man who did the research for the Methos Chronicles in the 1990's... a research on himself.

Nick stared darkly at Alex from the opposite sofa, where he had the right part. She had killed Catherine. He couldn't forget that. But they were fighting against Ahriman. When Ahriman was done, if he was, then revenge would come. He could wait, couldn't he? He wasn't so sure.

Kenny's eyes were on the strange girl, who was sleeping fitfully next to Amy, in front of him. She was pretty... and strange, as the other mortals. Amy was a nice mature woman, not particularly appealing to the eye but nice nonetheless. Nick wanted to kill Alex... for vengeful reasons. How many immortals had died in battles because of pitiful revenge?

Duncan's eyes were on the small table between the sofas. On it, the _katana_ Methos had extracted off Anne was laid perfectly horizontal. He recognised it. He wondered how could it be that its owner was allied with that mysterious woman, Rose. Methos had said she was a Champion like him...

The door opened and Methos walked off the room. His face was gloomy, evidencing the obvious. He shook his head and went to the kitchen, returning soon with a glass of water.

The front door was knocked gently. They all turned back in alarm. The grown immortals got hold of their swords, while Kenny grasped the _katana_ on the table, merely to imitate the others.

"Come in." Duncan called out.

The door opened. Dressed in loose bleached jeans, a male blue tee shirt two sizes too big, and wearing a pair of sandals, Ahriman's mistress was stared at in rage. Her face was devoid of any make up and was one of emptiness. She silently walked in and closed the door. She endured their accusatory scowl without staring down.

"What do you want?" Amy, the frailest of all them, finally broke the silence.

"I..." her eyes looked for a face not so filled with despise to reply to. They landed on Methos, who was scanning her strangely.

"She's come to see Anne." He spoke plainly.

"And why's that?" Duncan protested.

Methos opened her the door and let her in. He nodded with his head to Duncan before entering as well.

Duncan followed her, still unsure of who she was. Anne lay asleep. The visitor sat by her, tears falling down her eyes. She held the doctor's hand and kissed it. Anne seemed to wake up and give an uneven look at her.

"Who... who...?" she stammered.

"It's me... Mary Sylvie." The visitor wept without shame.

Duncan felt his chest tighten. He leant by the door, trying to grasp what he had just heard. How could it be?

"No... she perished... in the earthquake..." Anne stammered like mad.

"I survived, mom." Mary cried silently. "I thought you had..."

"She died..." Anne refused again, under the effects of whatever Methos had given her.

"I didn't." She stuck a hand under her shirt and produced a necklace. She opened it and showed it to her. Anne's eyes strained before watering. She seemed to choke before she held her daughter's hand as firmly as she could.

"Mary..." she gasped.

At the door, Duncan found himself moved. He was grinning and he looked away before tears went to his eyes. He glanced at Methos and left the room, conveying a simple message: Anne's last moments were to be for, and with, her daughter.

-----

"Anne's daughter?" Kenny asked. He remembered the doctor being pregnant. It had been a long time ago, or so it seemed.

"And why was she with...?" Nick queried.

"Revenge would fit the bill." Methos concluded. "But I guess she never knew about immortals. Had she, she might have acted differently."

"When did the earthquake happened?" Duncan questioned.

"2003." Methos whispered laconically. Silence took over. "Seacouver became ruins."

"All those years... each of them believed the other was dead." Alex gasped, her voice broken.

"And they're not like us." Kenny commented.

Amy seemed detached from the talk. The parallelisms she had drawn between the Linseys and her relationship with her father made her want to quiet. All of them noticed, but neither of them was to ask anything of her.

"Methos..." Duncan spoke without reluctance. They all knew who Adam was by now. "How is Connor in league with that... Rose? Who is she? You said she was a Champion like me... but there can be only one Champion at a time, can't it?"

Methos rose from his seat. "Roxheanna of Ningunus was the Champion... six thousand years ago. Like few of our kind, she has special abilities."

"Special abilities?" Nick blurted out.

"Psychic abilities in her case. When I first met her, they were not very developed. But if she has Connor MacLeod under her control... that means she has achieved full control of them."

"And is she going to help us... bring Him down?" Alex queried.

"She won't." Methos' tone was definitive.

"But we need Connor! You said that yourself!" Amy cried.

"I know! But to bring him back, we will need to find someone with as much psychic power as Rose."

"Cassandra." Duncan said without thinking. He knew that she hated Methos. The old immortal knew it too.

"Indeed. She's somewhere nearby." Methos began to wander around the room.

"How do you know?"

"I just do, MacLeod."

"And what about Rose?" Alex broke in. Methos grasped the _katana_ belonging to Connor MacLeod and rose it high. His face looked firm, yet his eyes refused to let the words go.

Anne's door was open and Mary left the room. Her eyes were purple and tears had flown abundantly. She stared again at them, not finding accusation or hatred, merely compassion.

"She died."

She said it without guilt or shame, without emotion or life. She looked empty of anything. A walking void.

"I'm sorry." Duncan stood up and approached at a safe distance. For what he had felt for the mother, he wanted to comfort the daughter. But not only it wouldn't be correct, she would not let him.

"He fears." She said detachedly.

"What?"

"Ahriman. He fears. I saw it in his face. He is scared." Mary headed for the door.

"Where will you go?" Duncan questioned with true concern. "We could fix you a room here if you like."

She smiled back but shook her head. "No thanks. I'm walking away."

Before anyone tried to say anything further, Mary Sylvie Linsey, daughter of Dr. Anne Linsey, left the house. Duncan contained his grief and turned back at the group.

"Methos... what about Rose?" he spoke calmly.

The oldest of them lowered the sword and sighed. He shook his head, still struggling to speak.

"She won't help us." Methos hissed fatally. "That leaves only one answer."


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII – Mixed Emotions.**

The shower ran, cleansing her body of the sweat that had oozed off her pores. The thrill and tension of facing Ahriman had given her Pawn a boost. He had been best than ever. And she had relished every instant, every split second of it.

Water ran from her eyes as well. Facing Ahriman had unleashed the painful memories, memories she thought long forgotten, memories she thought had faded. She had been so wrong.

Rose leant on a hand stretched against the wall, letting the warm water wash her back. She felt the pain strongly inside of her. She gasped as more tears fell and punched hard against the ceramic wall. Strongly, violently, carelessly. Her hand bled... as she had... as they both had. The closest she had had to a family had gone in the struggle. Life would never be the same after that, and it hadn't.

It had been astounding, shattering, devastating. And she was sure that she didn't have any choice but to go through what she had undergone six thousand years ago. But she needed to grow stronger if she was to defeat Ahriman. And to that, she would have to bring all the other immortals down... including Methos. Who would be the first?

-----

Kenny was sitting on the toilet, his stomach cleansed of solid waste. He had already wiped himself as well and was absently staring at the mirror above him. He was 820 years old. He should be taller and look older. But he wasn't. Thanks to a bunch who had killed his family and him.

The bathdoor opened and the strange girl walked in. She turned on the shower and started to take off her tee shirt. Then she saw him but not a gesture she made. She carried on stripping, her back to him, till she was naked. Then she entered the shower.

Kenny felt his own reaction numbing him. It was a kid. Merely 14 or 15. He was 800. What was he thinking? He put up his underwear and had problems with it, so excited as he was. His jeans followed.

Against his own will and conscience, curiosity lured him toward the shower. He peeked and saw her back. Water flowing down her minute and developing body, foam on her head, which she massaged with one hand while she passed the soap over her bosom and belly. She turned to let the water wash her back and Kenny got a full view of her. And as he did, she did too.

This time, she grinned as foam tripped down her. Kenny gulped, fearful she might scream, more fearful that she mightn't. She was a deity; she was a walking goddess, small in her glory as he was. She extended the hand with the soap forward, in calling offer.

His chin fell but he forced his entire body to stagger back and pace out of the bathroom...

-----

Mary Sylvie Linsey stood at the rooftop of a skyscraper, the wind blowing her hair wildly. She had stopped crying finally. She had been making a painful account of what she had done.

After the earthquake, she had wandered aimlessly, looking for her mother. She hadn't found her. A man took her in and fed her well. He was a father figure to her... at least till she turned 14, when she was already a developed woman. Then he became a nightmare.

She got rid of the man by pushing him out of a second-storey hotel window, after yet another session of unconsented sex. Then she wandered again around the United States, till she learnt something new.

Ahriman, the ruler of the world as it was now, had been responsible for the earthquake. A well-built good-looking man with beard he was. How he had done it, he could not be certain. But that day she made an oath: he would pay for her mother's death.

She hitch-hiked towards Washington. The road faced her with pigs much worse than her adoptive father. But she went on with it, learning many different – and hardly enjoyable – things. If she was to kill Ahriman, first she would have to earn his trust. And he was a man. Powerful, vicious, but still a man. And she was a woman, willing to go beyond to please him.

He found her before she did. She was walking at night, dressed in striking and provoking clothes - towards the White House – by then, Ahriman's sleeping place – when a limousine stopped. The man himself stuck his head off the window and invited her in. There it had begun: he had taken her in the very limousine. It had been a shocking experience, but she went along with it...

A long time ago. Mary thought how long it had been. Many things she could not understand. Why the Lord wanted her mother and her apart? Why he had let Ahriman rule? But one of them, more earthly, stunned her.

Duncan MacLeod. Her mother had had a friend like that. She had mentioned him a lot when she was a child, when they had grown up in the cottage in the country. The name had been buried in herself until that day at the cemetery, the very day where she learnt that her mother was still alive... and where she would see her fall into the arms of Death.

Ahriman knew him. He had greeted him as an old friend. But MacLeod looked in his thirties. The man her mother mentioned was of that age too. Unless that man had a very good surgeon, it was impossible they were the same man. But they were.

She would never know. She jumped over the ventilation of the heating device, placed right at one of the corners of the rooftop. The wind made her body shiver. What difference would it make?

There was no one to avenge, and there was no one to live for. Her life was senseless. So she jumped. She plummeted against the ground, the air against her face blinding her, her ears aching. The grey empty road became nearer and nearer and nearer...

-----

The Silent felt a thud nearby. She produced her sword and carefully roamed across the empty streets. She turned on a corner and as she turned, she felt an immortal around. She clenched tightly the grip and began to move further.

At first, she only made out a shape, half-kneeled next to something else on the floor. As she drew nearer, she saw that there was a corpse next to the shape, and that the shape was a man.

A few steps sufficed for her to have a good look of the man. He was of medium height and well-built. His skin was that colour between African Black and Albine White, his hair was long and curled, and his face showed nothing, except detachment. He was good-looking, far better than the men she had met in the last decade were.

He eyed up and saw her. He stood up. He wore a blue sweater and a pair of jeans. He carried a guitar case by him. He glanced at it, and then at her, in a way that unnerved her... and excited her.

"We don't have to fight." He finally said.

She lowered the sword and felt lured by the charm in his voice. She scrutinised the corpse. A beautiful dark-haired woman... a senseless mortal who killed herself. She didn't try to guess her motives. She was more interested in the other.

"Do you have a name?"

"You can call me John." He spat up rudely. He was young... she liked them young.

"I'm Cassandra." She approached him and offered her hand.

He took it gently, his eyes photographing her entire body. Her current outfit was a tight black sweatshirt from which her breasts bulged, and a pair of denim jeans. She noticed and smirked defiantly. His face acquired a little red and that pleased her. She had changed into new clothes, of which tons were available in the derelict shops. She hadn't thought of appealing to someone... till now.

"I'm looking for MacLeod."

With those words, he released her hand and gave his back to her. His back was muscled and broad. The tee shirt marked his worked-out flesh. She caught up with him and charmingly smiled.

"So do I... do you think we should look for him together?"

Now her pose was inviting. She stood with her hands at her hips, staring at her left, her chest pushed forward to offer her breasts to her. She caught a glimpse of the other being stunned by her.

She gazed and grabbed his head, leaning it to hers. The other kissed her. She brought him slowly to the floor, undoing his jeans, wanting him as she had not wanted someone for almost twenty years, eager enough to please him and please herself and catch up with the lost time...


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV – Untitled.**

Methos went for a walk. Being locked up in the house dulled him. MacLeod had been in a dark mood since Anne's death. The tension between Nick and Alex was threatening to burst every second. Amy played mum with the girl.

He needed to think. So he had walked out into the empty streets of New York City. He felt followed but pretended not to notice. It was probably Kenny, who had lately seemed uncomfortable in the girl's presence. It was evident to everyone, but unbeknownst to the rest, so did he.

Then the buzzes blasted his head. He recognised that buzz. He could recognise it anywhere. Cassandra was around... but she was not alone. He drew out his broadsword and readied for the rendezvous he would have postponed in other circumstances.

"YOU!"

It was a deafening squawk coming from the left. He glanced. Cassandra was there, her face a mask of hatred, her body moving dangerously close to him, sword in hand. Methos parried her blow and took distance. Again, she charged forward in a hardly good way. He glimpsed at her companion. He didn't know him, but seemed green. Too green.

Her blows danced up and down, never connecting with flesh, always with metal. At one point, Methos kicked her away. She staggered to the floor but rose up soon, gritting her teeth in rage.

"Cassandra..." Methos spoke calmly. "We mustn't fight. We need you to defeat Him."

"Shut up!"

Blinded by hatred and tears, she launched another flurry of attacks missed. The air whistled upon the dance of the sword.

"Stop it, please!" Methos continued. "MacLeod will need your knowledge..."

Upon Duncan's mention, she halted, measuring up her opponent. Methos spoke truth, that she could know at first sight, by the strangest sense a woman has, called intuition. But there was more. She received faint signals from his brain. How much, or how terrible, she couldn't know.

"LIAR!!"

He saw it in her face. She wouldn't believe him. But they needed her... MacLeod needed her. He gulped, tossing his sword away, and went down on his knees. She froze, trying to guess what he (and herself) would do next. She approached, the tip of the sword grazing the floor. She stood by him, eyeing his pathetic self with contempt.

"The Highlander needs you, Cassandra. But he also needs what I know." Methos sounded so sincere it panicked her. "But if you want to do it, go ahead. The Quickening will show you what I know... and you will pass it on to him."

She tightened and arched up her sword. She glanced at John, who was bewilderingly frozen. Like he had been when she had showed him some of the things she had incorporated to her sexual knowledge over the centuries. He was young and stupid. Stupid as all youngsters. Too young, but even younger... when life is measured in lifetimes.

She channelled all her strength to her arms and sent the blow. The blade fought against the air, which cried upon the cut of the sharp weapon, approaching its goal, which never stirred or shivered.

Methos opened his eyes. The blade was at his neck, frozen. His eyes went up to Cassandra. She stared, pitifully weeping. What would be in her mind? He couldn't know. But he cared for her. As he had cared for many others. But she was special. She had always been special.

He stood up. She was a statue. There had been times... in the old days... when she would go into those fits of motionlessness. He leant and kissed her lips. As in a fairy tale, she seemed to wake up from the spell...

She slapped him.

"Don't you ever—!" she shrieked.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, unable to hide a grin, seemingly oblivious of the fact that she had almost killed him. "You always woke up like this."

"Son of a bitch!" she cried.

"Who is your friend?"

"I'm John." The man approached and sneered at Methos.

"I am Methos."

"No, you're not. Methos is a legend."

Young and stupid, Cassandra thought, but also belligerent and defiant. There was a purpose for her coming across him. And now they found Methos. Soon they would find the Highlander.

"I Am Legend." Methos joked.

"What?!" John queried in puzzlement.

"Your friend needs to read more, Cassandra." Methos commented casually, leading the way home. He felt her eyes stabbing his neck and smiled, internally glad to have her close.

Cassandra indeed glowered at him, but still followed. She felt John behind her. She knew the boy was too young to understand most of what was going on. But he had a business with MacLeod, and that had to be taken care of. She wouldn't let him challenge the Highlander. She would slice his head in pieces first, however virile he were.

Slowly, things were unravelling for better. Once again, her mind was flooded with memories that pervaded her tranquillity. Why, after so long, had she started having those dreams again?

-----

"What do you mean he's not here?!"

Methos was out of himself. They had agreed that only one person at a time would leave. It was the safest. They remained safe from external attacks (however unlikely they seemed) and also from themselves, should the Game bend them into fighting.

"What I said, Methos." Kenny argued back. "He said he was taking a nap and... voila! He's gone!"

Amy was at the sofa, the girl in her arms, nervous by the furious quarrel. Nick was detachedly reading an old magazine about the once popular singer Britney Spears' pregnancy. His quarry, Alex, was in the shower.

"This is indeed a bad moment for you to join us, fellows." He commented ironically at Cassandra and John.

"Have you considered checking his room?" Amy tried to make one of the quarrellers leave.

Methos sighed in distress and headed to the back of the house, where the Highlander's bedroom was. He returned minutes later. Concern was in his face. He gripped up his sword and hid it in his coat. He eyed the others and closed his lids.

"What is it?" Cassandra asked.

"This..." he showed them a piece of paper. A note was scribbled on it.

"Rose?" Cassandra suddenly seemed nonchalant. "He's having an affair and doesn't want you to know it."

"You don't understand, do you?" Methos snapped. "Rose... is Roxheanna." Cassandra's face muted into one of shock. "She's improved her abilities."

"Then I'm going with you." Cassandra sentenced.

"If you are, then so am I." John joined them uninvited.

"You stay." Methos denied.

"I'm going."

"Let him go." Nick called without lifting his eyes from the magazine. "With any luck, she will take his head."

Methos smirked at the occurrence. Cassandra drew closer to him and grasped his head. She leant closer to him and whispered something in his ear. His face was still but his body shivered and shook.

"Take the car." Nick handed the keys to John. "Don't scratch it... or not even one thousand immortals will save your ass."

"Yeah, sure." John chanted back defiantly at the old man. "So, where to?"

"Downtown." he hissed, as memories from a faraway day overcame him...


	15. Chapter 15

**XV - Supernatural.**

_Somewhere Lost to Memory. _

_The Days of the Horsemen._

Fire burnt the houses. Cries and gasps had blended with lashes and screams. Blood had been shed excessively that day. From his horse, Methos stared in dread at the doing of the Horsemen, which was his doing too. In the distance, the sun was setting marvellously.

He looked for his partners. Kronos was in a hut, raping a female survivor, whose entirely family had been butchered before her by the same man that was taking her now. Elsewhere, Caspian had piled at least twenty-five corpses and was setting them on fire. Methos felt queasy, knowing that the other would eat them soon.

"Something disturbs you, brother?"

The giant Silas appeared by him. He looked tired, and red squawks of blood had tarnished his cloths. He stroked Methos' saddle, which replied gladly.

"I'm just..."

"You want to take her, don't you?" Silas lashed the question into Methos' pride. Of course he wanted her. And so did Silas. But however brute he was, he had something the other two lacked: loyalty. "Yes you do. Why don't you ride her away? We will camp for tonight. We will wait."

Methos smirked and headed behind to another horse, where a beautiful dark-haired woman in filthy cloths was tied to the animal, her legs and hands joined near the animal's genitals, her buttocks to the neck. She eyed him hatefully as he carried her horse away.

-----

Cassandra reluctantly took off her cloths, ending up naked. Methos examined her up and down with his eyes. She disgustingly saw his crotch growing. She knew what he wanted. She began to undress him, dithering whether to attack him or not.

They had ridden for almost an hour. They were too far away from the other Horsemen. Silas, Kronos and Caspian would not be able to help Methos, should she hurt him. But she knew also she had no knowledge of where to go. And if the other three Horsemen found her... The consequences were unthinkable.

She felt her head buzzing. She glanced at Methos. She had bared his chest and was about to do the same with his loincloths. He stood up and grasped a sabre he had carried with him.

A woman appeared. Blonde and beautiful, she stood contemplatively from nearby. Her face hinted she had been observing with delight for quite a while. She wore fine cloths, and she wielded a light sword.

Methos studied her. Cassandra saw distrust in his face. The woman began to approach. As she drew closer, she noticed she was the prettiest woman she had ever seen. A glimpse at Methos was enough to know that he wanted her.

"I'm Methos...and I challenge you."

"We can fight..." her voice was luring and hypnotic. "Or we can do better."

She squatted by Cassandra and stroked her face. The touch of her fingers excited her. She grabbed Methos by the hand and pulled him down. Cassandra felt something that impelled her to want this stranger.

"Who are you?" she managed to ask before something supernatural made her giggle foolishly.

"Roxheanna is my name, young one." The stranger bent and kissed her, forcing her tongue into hers. As she responded likewise, Cassandra felt a flood of desire surging at this different source of love. She pushed Roxheanna to the ground, caressing her hair, wanting her madly as the newcomer fondled her back. She noticed the familiar touch of Methos's chest against her back, but all she felt was desire, and unfathomable lust that needed, and would be satiated that night...

-----

_New York. _

_2017._

Nicholas Wolfe slammed the door of his studio shut and punched the marbled image of a gargoyle, cracking it. He felt enraged and irritated. The Highlander had returned. But he was not alone. Methos had surely withdrawn him from seclusion. And now Roxheanna had appeared. He poured himself some whisky and swallowed it at once, trying to focus.

But what annoyed him the most was that his mistress had disappeared. The day after the cemetery incident, she had left without a trace. Nowhere to be seen or found. He wanted that slut a lot. Only an immortal female could match such a woman... and she was dead.

He had a way to know. But it entailed something that unnerved the human part of him. He sat down at his desk and placed his feet over it, deep in thought. Doing it would enable him to monitor the doings of MacLeod and the others, thus letting him know where his mistress was. But doing it endangered him more than ever. Nicholas Wolfe would face danger as never before.

The two parts of him had to be torn apart. Ahriman would return to his bodiless being, while his dwelling would be an ordinary immortal. He found himself sweating, internally cursing his human weakness. He couldn't think clearly. He needed to relax.

"Sharona!" he shrieked.

The door of the studio opened without delay. The redhaired woman walked in. He motioned her towards him. She submissively approached him. He stroked her neck and gently pushed her down between her legs, where he felt his trousers undone, the act of her hands, tongue and mouth, and an utmost sense of departure...

_-----_

_New York, 2017._

"What's the big deal with this Roxanne?" John asked, carefully driving the Falcon through the streets. He didn't fear Nick's reprimand. He had been a sucker for cars when he was young, despite the fact that he had had a traumatic day over one of them, a long time ago. He wouldn't forgive himself should he damage such a vehicle.

"Roxheanna, boy." Cassandra corrected. "She's a very old immortal. More than any of us."

"Oh, that's all?"

"She has hypnotic abilities, John. She can make you things you don't want to." She shivered upon memories. "Things you might regret forever."

"Her powers were not very strong some years ago. But now they are." Methos added. "Her hypnosis lasted only for a few hours then. Now, who knows?"

"So that's all?!?"

"No. She faced Ahriman and defeated him."

"And the guy came back for a rematch?"

Methos shook his head. "Ahriman returns every thousand years. The Chosen One to fight him is always one of us. One thousand years ago, the task fell upon a brave though evil warrior who gave his best against him. Two millennia ago, a man known as Timothy faced him and lost everything in defeating him. He became crazy and a hermit. Three millennia ago..."

"Tsk. Get the point, man." John protested. "And when did this chick fight him?"

"Six thousand years ago."

John's eyes widened. "A lot, if you ask me. Why do we need her?""

"Because this time is different." Cassandra's voice cracked. "Before, the Chosen Ones succeeded in defeating Ahriman... MacLeod failed."

"Ah, he's the one?!" John seemed surprised. Cassandra found that strange. "And what will she do to help us?"

"She won't help us, John. I know her that well to know she won't." Methos sentenced.

"That means that you..." John muted and focused on the road, the message having been conveyed.

"Take this street and stop at the corner. We're here already." Methos ordered after some silence.

Cassandra was about to ask how he knew when he felt the buzz. John turned and parked the car as he had been told. They got off the car and found someone looking at them: Duncan MacLeod.

"What are you doing here?"

"You can't come alone." Cassandra chanted.

"Who's him?"

"He's looking for you."

Duncan felt the scrutiny of the young immortal. Would he be some fool believing in such things as strokes of luck? A kid that was hoping to get one when challenging him?

"Who's him?"

This time, it was John who asked the question. Methos scowled questioningly at him, whereas Cassandra closed her eyes.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Another MacLeod? I'm John."

They felt the buzz. All of them. Methos spotted the address on the paper matched the one from a building to their left and drew out his sword. The other immortals imitated him. From the building door, two immortals appeared.

The first one was Rose. She was stark naked. John felt lured by such image, but Methos gripped his shoulder and squeezed him hard enough for him not to get lost in dirty thoughts. The other one barely wore some boxer shorts with pigs on it, the long hair shielding his chest. He glowered at the visitors. In her hand, she wielded a light sword. Her smile was broad when she recognised Cassandra.

"We have visitors, my Pawn." She began to walk forward, provokingly, every step making her breasts sway and her sex available to the other's eyes. The others- all of them- felt the attraction impelling them. "Hi Cassandra." She reached her and stroked Cassandra' s face. The other froze victim of a single memory. "You look prettier than ever."

"What did you wanted me for?" Duncan called out, breaking the spell.

"I wanted you because I need a new lover." She nodded towards her Pawn. "He's great but I need a change... and I also need your Quickening."

Every word she said was charged with a trickle of irony and another of seductiveness. After a still hesitance, he shook his head and moved his dragonhead _katana _in position. Rose smirked and turned back, letting John get a perfect view of her rear.

She returned by his pawn, who glanced sideways at her. They headed inside the building. They did not return.

"Wow!" the kid commented. Cassandra disregarded him and faced the others.

"What now?"

"We go after them." Duncan determined.

"Are you sure you will be able to face him?" Methos asked.

"I don't know... but I don't see any other way out."

With those words, Duncan MacLeod walked inside the building. Cassandra and John followed him. Methos remained in the streets, watching them go. Cassandra's words, the ones whispered to him, reverberated in his brain, making him shiver as he finally joined the others.

"_Evil I sense here. I've dreamt of Roxheanna... and of someone much worse than her. Talthos is coming, Methos. I sense him. We must be ready. We must not fail."_

(_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I readjusted events a little bit. Timothy (the hermit that Duncan beheads in a Scottish cave shortly after becoming immortal) had fought Ahriman a millennium ago, as per the Series continuity. I gave "some" years more of insanity.)_


	16. Chapter 16

**XVI – The Price of Hope.**

Duncan stood at the lobby of the building. It once had been a hotel but now it was Rose's sleeping place. He sensed Cassandra, Methos and the other guy behind him yet he didn't turn.

"What do we do now?" he queried.

"Locate them." Methos suggested.

"How?" Duncan turned.

"Cassie here will do it."

Cassandra sneered at Methos for addressing her with such a name and shook her head.

"I haven't... used my abilities in a long time."

"You still have them." Methos encouraged kindly. "You need just to remember."

"I..." Cassandra felt moved by such attitude. She sought further assurance, which she found in Duncan. "I'll try."

She closed her eyes and for a second, her body glimmered. Her hand seemed to move by itself and aim forward. She opened her lids again and started moving. They followed her through two stairs down till they reached a parking lot.

The presence of their quarries shook them. Cassandra led them past perpetually parked cars to an opening. She withdrew her sword and readied to battle. The opponents were ahead. The others did likewise.

Ten metres away, Rose stood confidently, now dressed in denim jeans and a shirt buttoned up to the chest, her right hand arched to her bosom, holding her light sword, the blade of which rested against her right shoulder. Next to her, Connor MacLeod wore black jeans and a grey sweater, under a brown coat. In his hand, there was a scimitar.

"Rose... we need your help as well." Methos stepped past Cassandra, his sword prepared, just in case.

"I won't, Methos." She sounded decided. "I can't bring myself to put others in my struggle against Him... again."

"But this is not your struggle anymore, Rose." Methos' voice notched up a bit. "It's Duncan MacLeod's now."

"I'm one of the last survivors, Methos." Rose's words came out harshly. "Charon, Logozz, Timothy, Jeremiah, Nakano, even the Kurgan... they were all beheaded. Only Talthos and I remain. There is a reason for that."

Methos shuddered at the mention of the one named Talthos. "You're not the Champion anymore, Roxheanna." The words seemed to affect her. "But we still need you. Ahriman won but we can still bring him down."

"I will bring him down... with your power!" Rose shrieked, raising her sword.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Roxheanna of Ningunus, I challenge you for the Quickening, here and now!"

The defiant cry unbalanced them all. Even Rose seemed surprised at Duncan's attitude. But she managed to fake a smile and pat her Pawn. He twisted the sword forward and charged against Duncan, who tossed away his coat.

The lashes echoed in the lot. Every attack done by Connor, Duncan parried it. But he was unable to counter, not only because he found no opening, also because there was not a second's relent.

He jumped over a parked car and took distance. He removed his coat and tossed it away. Connor was coming again, leaping over the trunk of a BMW and chopping at him. Duncan eluded him as he could. Connor might have the skill, but he had the speed. However, he would eventually tire, and the skill would still be there.

-----

"That was a cowardly act. The challenge was against you, Rose."

She smiled carelessly. Her eyes noticed John. She placed her left hand on her neck and it descended down and inside the shirt, fondling her breasts softly. John gulped and couldn't conceal how that attitude appealed to him. She grinned at him.

"Spare me the lecture, Methos. I will bring Ahriman down. If you want to defeat Him, give in your Quickening."

Methos aimed his sword at her. "I have a better idea."

Rose leapt forward, her sword arching downward against his belly. He blocked, the collision echoing preternaturally. She landed several blows against his blade. Methos parried and deflected off carefully. He was facing someone with more experience than he had, something that had not happened often, and that was enough a reason to be cautious.

-----

Duncan avoided Connor's thrusts and managed to kick him. The other staggered a little but went on. The dreaded moment had come. Duncan felt exhaustion taking over slowly. He still eluded and dodged but he felt he was fighting on pure nervous energy. He raised his _katana_ to divert a lash and did so, yet didn't recognise Connor's twisting move.

The elder Highlander's body twisted and he heard the wind being slashed before his own stomach underwent the same. He treaded backwards and fell, the pain numbing his limbs.

Connor raised his sword up... and down, all his strength viciously channelled in a single blow, aimed at beheading Duncan. It went down.. and down... and down...

Something blocked. Duncan saw a neat Japanese blade between the scimitar and his neck and guessed what it was. He had his dragonhead _katana_ in hand. That meant that someone had withdrawn the tigerhead_ katana_ from his coat and saved him.

Connor withdrew the sword and scowled at the other. John stood, the _katana_ in hand, staring questioningly at him. Duncan got out of their way, crawling away.

"I know you're still there." John called out. "You need to remember."

Connor attacked. The younger immortal managed to avoid his blows but one made a cut in his shirt. But Connor had been reckless, leaving space for anyone, even an inexperienced immortal, to stab him in the chest. He had seen it, and he was sure John had seen it too. He wondered why he hadn't taken the chance.

-----

Blood oozed off Methos' chest. Rose had connected two or three slices and now the once believed oldest immortal was panting tiredly, his grip slipping. Yet he still fought.

"Must we continue, Methos?" Rose asked, hardly exhausted. "Surrender your Quickening and let's get over this."

"Never."

Methos struck. His sword passed her defence and sliced her shoulder. She cried as the weapon broke through the epidermis and the veins were cut open. She jumped back to let the wound heal. Methos smirked.

"That was stupid, Methos."

"I will spare your head, Rose." Methos called out. "If you release Connor. We need him."

She guffawed. "Release? I haven't used my skill on him."

"What?!"

"I didn't. I overdosed him with the Sanctuary drugs before releasing him. That apparently left him amnesiac." She replied, raising her blade again. "Funny thing. I heard that Logozz the Pumerian lost his memory after defeating Him."

"So did I. It was a rumour only." Methos commented fatally. That was it. Connor MacLeod was crucial in the struggle against Ahriman. Without him, there was no hope.

"And how can you be so sure?"

"You never learned he lost his head, did you?" Methos smirked, now having nothing to lose.

"No, I did n—" Rose's face became a mask of shock.

"And Charon's." Methos stepped forward, knowing how his words discouraged her. "Duncan MacLeod has Timothy and Jeremiah within him. Connor has Nakano and the Kurgan. Whose Quickening do you have, Roxheanna of Ningunus?"

"It can't be!" Rose charged forward. Her attacks were nervous and filled with frustration. Methos found a clear space and simply extended his sword. Rose was impaled against it.

-----

John wiped the sweat off his forehead. He felt the pain in his arms. Connor had sliced him deeply there. But he couldn't give up. It wouldn't be fair to his opponent. He wielded the tigerhead_ katana_ forward yet again. His thrust extended too much and Connor slashed his chest.

"John... back off. Let me face him." Duncan called out.

Behind him, the worried voice of Cassandra startled the Highlander. "Rose used no psychic skill on Connor..."

"That means..."

"That we might not be able to turn him to our side... and that..."

A deafening cry drew their attention. Cassandra and Duncan were used to seeing bloody images, but what they saw was too much. With a single slice, Connor had severed John's both arms. He was on the floor, the massive amount of blood being lost paralysing him slowly. And Connor was insanely readying his _katana_ for the final blow.

Duncan moved ahead to help John, but her gentle touch stopped him.

"Don't." Cassandra spoke. He turned. She seemed in trance, her mind chained to something else out of her body. "John wants to do it. He knows that the Quickening might be the only way to bring back —" She silenced and her eyes opened wide. "Oh Lord."

John's head had fallen. Connor was on his knees, analysing the face of his vanquished opponent. A light from nowhere illuminated him and white bolts of lightning took him.

-----

Methos had seen the elder Highlander take John's head. He endured the loss. However brief he had known that boy, he knew that however ill mannered and disrespectful he had been, inside he had been good. He scowled at Rose.

"This is your doing." Methos wept tears of frustration. "You erased Connor's memory. You let a good man die, and the same man killed another. And what did you do for the world? You handed it in to Ahriman!"

Rose's face was a mask of defeat and lack of fulfilment. She had failed. The preparations of thousands of years to defeat Ahriman again had led to nowhere. Methos was right. Ahriman had won definitely. Not because Duncan MacLeod had failed to defeat him in due time, but because she, Roxheanna of Ningunus, had let an important part of mankind's hope lose his memory.

"Take—it." She gasped.

Methos hastily withdrew his sword. He stared back at Duncan and Cassandra, who were eyeing at Connor MacLeod receiving the Quickening. Cassandra was crying. Duncan seemed stunned.

He beheaded her. The bonnie face fell with a smirk of satisfaction on her face. She had done the right thing... in the end. And mankind would pay for it. He embraced the Quickening despondently, longing for a little hope.

-----

"He hasn't moved, Methos."

The Quickening was over. Connor had been on the floor for almost five minutes, motionless as a statue. Methos had joined them. Duncan had his _katana_ ready. He had learned the implications of Rose's actions. He didn't want to... but he had to. As Connor received the Quickening, Cassandra had crouched against a red Mercedes Benz. She had gone into an incomprehensible fit of sadness and tears rolled down helplessly down her tender cheeks.

Suddenly, Connor moved a hand and tried to rise. Duncan clenched his fist round the dragon, ready to deliver the blow should it be necessary. But what happened made him loosen.

Connor had squatted by the corpse he had beheaded and he was embracing it as he broke into tears, an odd sorrow embarking on him. He punched the floor again and again, furiously gasping with every blow. He grabbed the tigerhead _katana_ and stood up. He strolled towards Duncan and forced a smirk in his pained face. The younger Highlander froze upon recognising finally his old friend.

"Take my head, Duncan. Please."

"I won't, Connor."

"I killed him!"

The cry shattered the younger Highlander. Connor went on his knees, sobbing madly and despairingly. Duncan and Methos did not understand. Cassandra moved past them, knelt and comforted the older Highlander. That seemed to unleash Connor's sorrow even more. She held him as her own tears were shed.

They eyed her questioningly and soon understood their reaction when she responded to their silent inquiries:

"John... was his son."

(_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Logozz and Charon are characters from another fic I wrote called "The Heretic", set in a post-Endgame reality but which can also fit here as well.. No reference therein is made to Ahriman so you needn't read it to grasp a little more. As for the character Jeremiah, he is supposed to be the false Methos.)_


	17. Chapter 17

_Again, things not proper for sensitive readers. Discretion advised._

**XVII – Strange Things.**

Inside the house, the remaining members of the team were nervously waiting for the others to return. Alex and Nick were playing poker while Amy prepared something to eat out of some potatoes Methos had magically brought from out of the blue. She kept an eye on those two. The tension between them seemed subsided for the time being, but it might burst any second. And she had no one strong enough to keep him or her at bay.

The girl passed by. Amy couldn't restrain her smile. She was becoming civilised. She had recently started having baths and dressing by her own will. She was heading upstairs. Amy began to hum. Sometimes, life was not that bad.

----

Kenny felt the water tripping down his small body. He soaped his armpit to wash off the stench of sweat from the night before, and he did the same with the rest of his body. Then he let the soap go to the floor. He leant against the wall to feel the water on his back.

He felt a pair of hands touching his belly, and two small rounded things clung to his back. His breathing halted and he needn't turn to realise of who was there. He sensed the touch of the soap again on his body, this time softer and more seductive than before, triggering an erotic spark in his spine.

A right hand stroked gently his back, to then caress his chest and rub his nipples. He hissed, having an astounding reaction below. The hand slipped down the belly and landed between his legs. Kenny felt he was about to explode. He was pushed against the wall as he felt a familiar source of sexual gratification in a new way.

He gasped, feeling stiff and lustful. Then he felt a tide of pleasure as he was let go; the job done, he fulfilled. Kenny hunched against the wall tiredly. He unevenly turned to see for the other. He was alone.

-----

"You tricked me!"

Nick had laid a full, but Alex countered with a poker. She had won the game. But he refused to believe it.

"I didn't." She replied cautiously. "I never tricked anyone in my life."

"Yeah, right."

"Say what you want." Alex stood up and headed away.

_You could kill her, Nicky._

Nick raised his eyebrows upon the soft words stemming from apparently nowhere.

_You shoot her and take her head. Then... mmm...you can take her body. _

"Who... is...?"

"You said something, Nick?" Amy called from the kitchen.

"No... I just..." Nick silenced. _In the kitchen, over the table. How long has it been? _"Nothing." He stood up. Both women were staring at him in distrust. "Alexi... I was wrong. I'm sorry." He hated doing that, but he needed to wash off the suspicions. "How's it going, buddy?"

Kenny climbed down the stairs, dressed in jogging trousers and a red tee shirt. Alex noticed a swelling between his legs and she made a comment to Amy. Both women burst into laughter. Kenny reddened and went past them silently. He sat on the sofa, deep in thought.

_You can have her, Kenny._ He looked to the sides to see who was speaking. It was a sensual, feminine voice. _Go to her room and claim her. She's tender and young. Just do it._

"The potatoes will be ready soon. Do you think they'll return soon?" Alex joined him.

"If they return."

He felt the buzz in his head, and so did she. The door was opened and Methos walked in. They stared questioningly. Cassandra followed. Behind him, Duncan stepped in. Next to her, Connor MacLeod despondently treaded.

"They made it." Amy hissed to herself from the kitchen. Tears run to her eyes when the door was closed and their newest friend had not walked in as well.

Connor plopped against the sofa, sadly staring at the ground. Duncan sat by him, and by him sat Amy, next to where Nick was. On the other sofa, Methos and Cassandra joined Alex and Kenny.

"So?" Nick queried.

"Rose... is no longer an issue." Methos whispered. "Connor..." the elder Highlander bent his head up without interest. "I'm sorry."

The road back had been silent. No one had said a word. That the first word of sympathy came from this man he had met and fought as a Benjamin Adams in the nineteenth century, and that one hundred and fifty years later, he met again, now as the legendary Methos, was strange. Connor forced a smirk.

"I don't know how much acquainted you are with what happens." Amy said kindly.

"I... can't be certain... I..."

"Calm down and relax." Methos helped. "Just tell us what you remember."

"I... I went into Sanctuary... from that on... Rose is all I know."

"The name Ahriman means anything to you?"

"Ahriman..." Connor strained his eyes, thinking. "She spoke all the time of him. She despised him... and claimed she would terminate him." He paused. "What...? Why the streets are so—empty?"

"The world is doomed, Connor." Duncan spoke gravely. "Ahriman surfaced... and I... failed to face him. He made me... kill..." he garnered strength. "Richie."

Connor's eyes watered as he patted his friend. "We will make him pay, Duncan." He stood up and brushed off the tears. "I'm Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"I'm Nick Sutherland." Nick offered his hand and then pointed at each of the remaining people. "Amy Brennan-Thomas... Alex Raven... Kenneth Montrose. You know Cassandra and Methos... where's the girl?"

Amy stood up and called out. Footsteps above were heard and the girl climbed down the stairs. She wore a long sleeping dress and her hair was wet. She jumped down and landed on both feet after a leap of two steps. She approached, a smile on her beautiful face.

"Sweetie." Nick grinned. "This is Connor."

She raised a hand and waved.

"Hi, bonnie. What's your name?" Connor asked charmingly.

She giggled but didn't reply.

"She doesn't have a name." Duncan commented. "I stumbled on her... literally."

"We should call her something." Connor seemed past the mourning mood. "What do you think, blondie?"

Kenny reddened and looked away. Connor quickly studied him. His reaction was the one of a lover at the risk of the discovery of his affair. But he was too young to have anything physical with her, and so was she. Had things changed that much since he had entered Sanctuary?

Kenny realised of the foolishness of his reaction. He suddenly pretended to think and came out with the first name he thought of, the only name he had thought of all his life.

"Amanda."

_You can bed Amanda, Kenny. You've always wanted_. Again the soft, feminine voice, hammering within his head. _Now you can do it._

"What about Catherine?" Nick suggested, his eyes passing by Alex. _She's beautiful, Nicky. Perhaps you should take her body first... and her head... only when you are done. _He looked away and noticed Duncan a little gloomy after his words.

"Methos?" Amy asked.

"Connor had the idea. He should have the choice." Methos did not want to play that game. Naming her like a decedent didn't appeal to him. But he knew Connor would do the same as the others.

"Do you like being called Heather, bonnie?" Connor queried gently.

The girl put a puzzled face at first. Then she smiled. Her mouth opened and she forced out her tongue.

"H—H—ea—th—er."

They marvelled at her first word, Connor less than the others. But the elder Highlander still smiled pleased.

"Would you like to take a bath, Connor?" Amy proposed. He nodded. "Upstairs, first door to the left." He grinned thankfully and headed up.

"What happened to John?" Kenny queried.

"Connor killed him... he was his son." Methos whispered back.

"Bloody hell."

"Indeed it is for him." Cassandra said. She seemed uneasy about something. "I'm going to bed."

"May I join you?" Methos let the question dangle in the air.

"You may..." Methos grinned in pleasant surprise, as the others. "... not." She smiled seductively and left. The oldest among them headed to his room in mock disappointment.

"I need to rest." Duncan stood up and went to his room.

"I've prepared some potatoes. I'll take them to your rooms." Amy called out at the others. She headed to the kitchen.

Heather yawned and lay against the sofa, her eyes posed on Kenny. The little immortal looked away, embarrassed by her look. Alex paid no heed to him and bent to lift her up. Her buttocks faced Nick.

_From behind, Nick. It's more pleasant for you, and more painful for her. You want her to suffer as you suffered, have you forgotten that?_

Alex didn't seem to have problems carrying the girl's weight. She placed her head against her shoulder and started taking her to her room, now upstairs, where the ladies' rooms where.

Kenny watched her do so intently.

_I will back you, Kenny. _He felt an invisible touch on his boyhood. _I will make you a harder man. You can teach her so much._

He and Nick were left alone. They glanced at each other and looked away, extremely concerned that the other did not know what they were thinking...


	18. Chapter 18

**XVIII – Women.**

A tiny rain fell down. From his window, at the top of a luxurious five-star hotel that maintained its grandeur, Nicholas stared at New York City taking a shower. He had taken one not long ago, and now he was bare admiring the view.

He turned, believing he had sensed something. His eyes inspected the room and they returned to the city. He had been too human lately. Feeling paranoia and fear was weak. He had blended too much with the human carcass he occupied.

_Ahriman..._

He turned, feeling a sweet melodic voice chanting. He felt the embarrassing sensation of his own sweat trickling nervously down his back. He moved to the centre of the suite he had slept in last night.

"Come out in a shape I can talk to," he bellowed.

The sensation disappeared. He felt a transient relief before the door was burst open and torn off its hinges. The red-haired woman known as Sharona walked in, trimmed in a red tee shirt and a black leather skirt, treading authoritatively. He stared eerily at her and noticed something different in her: between her eyes, a green pentacle glistened.

"Ahriman..." she hissed.

"Amira." Nicholas grunted. "How dare you break in like this?"

"This is the twenty-first century. Don't grunt at me with your medieval speech." She was almost teasing him. He smirked, evidently not pleased.

"What do you want?"

"The same thing you want: the Highlander. Dead with his head over on a plate." She sat down on the bed, caressing the sheets, enjoying the touch.

"And what makes you think you will succeed where I have failed thus far?" his question lingered in the air, as he stared at her, feeling desire as he had not felt before for the body Amira occupied.

"There is a difference among us, Ahriman." She closed her eyes and lay against the bed. She rose her chest up, in a seeming sensation of pleasure. She smiled and opened her lids. "You are a man. I am a woman."

"So...?"

"Your struggle has been against men mostly. I am a woman, and I'm not bound by the result of the battle. Many things I have done in the last millennia, while you were buried after losing to that brute!"

"I overestimated the brute." He admitted. "I never thought he would be such a brilliant warrior."

"At least you learned from your mistake. MacLeod is not someone to be taken lightly." She grinned.

"And what do you know?" he spat up.

"I tried to bring him down once, a century or so ago. I failed. Like you, I mistook him for an ordinary man."

"No immortal is ordinary... and there're a lot with him."

"I have already paid a visit to them. Merely to confuse them. I know this is your realm and my presence here is forbidden." She rose from the bed. "I can leave if you like, or I can cause them trouble." She giggled.

"That would be nice." Now Nicholas was by her, his Might erected, his eyes keen on the breasts he had touched many times before. "Tell me, have you experienced earthly pleasure?"

"Do you advise it?" she teased.

He kindly pushed her to the bed and pulled up her skirt. She giggled before he stabbed. He heard a whine of surprise coming from her, and gasps that annoyed him. Amira had left, and only Sharona remained. He went hard on her, just to shake off the frustration he felt...

----

_2004._

_Toronto, Canada._

Alexi Raven scowled at the woman that wielded the rapier so defiantly. She was not interested in fighting. Too many deaths had occurred lately. She did not want to add a name to the death toll, even if that name was of an immortal, and if killing was not something strange to her.

"I told you I don't want to fight." She repeated.

The other woman smiled nonchalantly. Alex glanced at the man by her, who seemed anxious to see his woman do her stuff. He seemed to be certain of who would be the victor. So did Alex, and that was the reason she wanted to refrain from fighting.

"Let's do it."

The woman, who had identified herself as Catherine with-no-last-name, lunged forward, daintily delivering a thrust at Alex's chest. She avoided it without trouble and sliced the other's back nastily. Catherine fell on her knees, her nape an easy target for Alex's blade.

Then she felt a deafening explosion and a seething pain growing in her shoulder. She glanced back to find the man with a revolver in his hands, aimed at her. She scowled. Interference was not allowed. He should know that, which could only mean that the woman permitted said interference.

She gritted her teeth in anger. The man pointed the gun at her again, grinning mockingly. Alex darted at him. He fired but the bullet went amiss. He was only reloading it when she punched him hard in the chin, knocking him down.

He had not reached the floor yet when she was facing Catherine again. She was regaining her feet, staring apologetically at her. She picked up her rapier again and made a gentle bow.

"He didn't know..." she whispered, all nonchalance gone off her. "Shall we continue?"

And the clash followed...

----

_Around six thousand years ago._

_Ningunus._

The red maelstrom was unleashed in all its fury. Roxheanna clung her bare soils to the ground to refrain from being absorbed by it, her broadsword fiercely perched to her hands. To her side, Cleter, the bravest warrior she had ever known, a hulk with long raven hair, was beginning to lose his feet. A few feet ahead of her, Santu, the man she worshipped as a brother, had his sword inside a whirlwind.

"Santu!" she cried.

"Roxheanna!" Cleter called out. "Focus!"

_Focus_. How many times had they told him that? She had been born less than four lifetimes ago, and when death claimed her for the first time while defending Ningunus, Cleter had taken her away to meet Santu. Together, the two men had trained her.

Roxheanna would not return to Ningunus for three lifetimes. And she would return dragged by a gripping feeling. What she found was a barren place. No life whatsoever in it. Except for two immortals like her.

Charon and Logozz were their names. They travelled together. They mentioned the Ahriman of legends Roxheanna had heard, how he tried to conquer the world every millennium, and how an immortal was chosen to defend the realm.

They had been chosen in their times. Now a different task, they claimed, lay ahead of them. Now, Roxheanna was chosen. They had been wary of saying much, but they had said what he had just said: _focus_...

Roxheanna arched her broadsword against her face and started to tread forward. A preternatural laughter shrilled evilly all over. The wind slapped her face but she carried on, approaching Santu more and more.

She felt Cleter by her. They reached Santu and they all sliced against the whirlwind. Again, an ominous cacchination was heard and echoed miles away. Their attacks were purposeless. How could they hit what they could not touch?

To her left, Santu gasped. His right arm presented a cut extending from his shoulder to his wrist. The warrior staggered back but kept on attacking the shapeless enemy. To her right, Cleter's chest bled. For all the Highest Ones, how could she defeat such an opponent?

She closed her eyes, repenting the second she had begged of her two friends their assistance in the fight. She had returned from Ningunus in despair, and told them all. They had comforted her and brought her pleasure so that she could forget for a while. But the following morning, she pleaded to them both.

_Focus_. She slowly vacated her mind from any thought. How could she defeat an enemy that had no body? She opened her eyes with the answer and controlled the shivering of her own limbs.

"There's no other way..." she cried, tears slipping down her cheeks. She arched her sword and lashed against Santu's head. He never saw it coming. Then she turned and took Cleter's head. He only gave her a glance of pain before she beheaded him.

The double quickening began. Roxheanna screamed, her body shimmering in blue and green. Suddenly, the glow seemed to leave her body and surround the maelstrom. The harsh and evil laughter gave way to sighs of surprise. She shrieked deafeningly, and the glow became more blistering. Beneath her, the ground trembled.

Suddenly more laughter erupted. It had been useless. Not even the Quickening could defeat Ahriman. She fell on her palms and knees, letting exhaustion and hopelessness control her. She had killed them for nothing. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

The excruciating feeling that Ahriman was exposing her to, akin to yet so different and worst than pain, meant nothing. The harsh bruises and slashes that appeared on her body meant nothing. She was a forlorn character at the mercy of an evil entity which she had been supposed to defeat. But she had failed.

She heard his wicked voice speaking, in voices that she knew, yet the memory of their deaths was still too vivid for her to be deluded. She didn't listen. She was silently imploring that Ahriman could wield a sword and take her head, to join her friends in the afterlife.

The voices decreased, or so it seemed. They became a whisper and then... nothing. The redness around her gave way to a strange purple, then slowly, she saw a flash of sunlight irradiated over her. She looked up. The evil maelstrom was flickering and fading.

Detachedly she rose, careless of the evil she had just defeated. She was alone in a barren place to mourn the two people that had meant the world to her, dead by her own hand and ignorance. She had won... but she had paid a heavy price... one she would not pay the next time.

-----

Methos woke up, his shirt wet. The dream had been vivid, and he felt an appalling sensation of dread. But he was smiling. There was a way to defeat Ahriman. And now he knew it...

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: There's no canon character named Amira, or Cleter, or Santu. The events during which she "tried" to bring down Duncan are the ones of "White Silence.")_


	19. Chapter 19

**XIX – Point of No Return.**

_New York._

On the empty street, Alex, Cassandra, Methos and the two MacLeods were gathered. Nick, Amy and Kenny contemplated them from a still Buick that probably had not moved in more than twenty years.

Methos was wielding his sword. The others had theirs at bay. The oldest of them had insisted on that but they were uncertain of why. He stood like a new university teacher at the beginning of the term: uncertain of how to begin.

"Ahriman can be defeated." He hissed. "But it is not easy."

"So I thought." Cassandra replied. Connor grinned at the remark.

"Why do we fight?"

"Sorry?" Connor queried back.

"Why—do we... fight?" Duncan mumbled.

"Yes. Which is the purpose of the Game?"

"There can be only One." Connor answered with a fatal look in his face.

"Exactly. The last One attains the Prize." Methos smiled gaily. "But there's another Prize... for every time you get closer to the Gathering."

"The Quickening."

"That's correct." Methos motioned at the mortals and Kenny to join them, which the others did. "Amy, you've been with the Watchers. How would you describe the Quickening?"

Amy felt the others' eyes and squirmed in her place. She opened her mouth but did not say anything at first. Then she took air and spoke:

"The power and knowledge of the vanquished immortal leave the headless body. They entered the winner's body... it's hard to describe."

"But the gist is there." Methos approved almost academically. "This power and this knowledge join the victor's... and it is in that moment when..." he paused for a moment before continuing "... the Channelling is possible."

"The what?" Kenny blurted out.

"Channelling." Connor seemed calm enough, compared to the others, who looked fairly puzzled. "You're saying, Methos, that instead of welcoming the Quickening... we can push it away... along with our own?"

"Indeed."

"And how do we do that?" Duncan felt his mouth dry.

"We have to practice." Cassandra answered before Methos did. "And to that... we will have to..."

"Do some headhunting." Connor completed the sentence.

----

The group left. Cassandra, Methos, Connor and Duncan got in the Falcon and sped away, towards anywhere where they might find an immortal. Alex stayed with Kenny and the mortals. She claimed that she was not ready to take another head after the events underwent in Gôteburg, and that someone had to protect the others if an immortal called in looking for blood.

**Two weeks** passed. One night, in the living room, Kenny and Nick were playing chess. The boy seemed to have acquired a great deal of knowledge concerning the game, for it was the third game they were playing, and in the first two Nick had seen the endgame before he even realised.

Kenny moved c4-c5. Nick countered with the same move. Kenny moved d2-d4. Nick placed his hand on his left bishop to think. He exerted his mind hard...

_Nicky... Nicky... the time has come._

Again that voice, he thought. He shook his head and foolishly moved his horse to the left. Kenny grinned and analysed the stakes.

_Kenny... Amanda is waiting._

He shook upon thinking of the girl, that in his head was named Amanda, and not Heather. He made an awkward move, and lost a pawn.

"I... think I need to leak." Nick suddenly excused himself, and headed upstairs.

_It is time, Kenny. Take her._

He found the proposal oddly interesting, and felt his brain telling him to do so. He went after Nick, heading to the girl's room, not caring of what they would say the next day.

-----

Alex had been sleeping fitfully. She had been dreaming of another time and place, a time when life was still worth it. Then she had woken up and found herself against the bed, Nick on her, prone to be inside as well.

"Get off, you pig!" she tried to push him away, but he was large, and was embracing her in a way that was immobilising. Then he began the rape. She felt the unwanted thrusts paining her more and more... and she was unable to do anything.

The bastard had waited for the proper time to enact his revenge on her. She should have seen it coming. She should have known better than to believe that he had forgotten. And she wept, not as much for the pain she felt, but for the helplessness she was engulfed in.

Her mind went astray when she sensed the buzz. Had they returned?

-----

Kenny walked into the girl's room. Zombie-like, he treaded up to her bed. With surprise, he noticed she was not sleeping. Her eyes fixed upon him, not questioningly, not fearfully, but beckoningly.

He went up the bed and slipped under the sheets. He could see it in her eyes. She wanted him. _Now, Kenny, now!_ The voice cried. He felt his crotch pleading for freedom. He undid his trousers and touched her skin. She was naked. He went inside her and felt stiff all over. A plethora of new sensations till then unknown to him invaded him. He hid his face against the girl's shoulder. As his own tears rolled down, he began to push slowly.

He paid no heed to the buzz he had felt until it was dangerously close. He rose, as the door was burst open and a man, a very strange and scary man, walked in with a _gladius_ in his hands.

"Holy shit..." Kenny spat up. The man clenched his blond hairs and yanked him down. Kenny was dragged down to the hallway and to another door, leading to Alex's door... what would she say? He thought as the man kicked down the door.

He found Alex... and Nick? They were in bed, and he was penetrating her. He seemed to react from some kind of trance and tried to produce a pistol. The man darted ahead and unarmed Nick, to then punch him hard in the face, sending him down.

He tossed Kenny against Nick and made the _gladius_ whistle in the air.

"This is not your struggle, Amira." He spoke harshly and angrily. "BE gone and do not return!"

With those words, he slashed Nick harshly in the chest. The mortal gasped and fell on his back, never to move again. His eyes posed on Kenny, who looked panicky at his executioner. The man pulled the boy up and placed his blade against the little neck. He pushed and after a little gasp, the head went off nicely. Knowing what was next, he threw the headless little corpse at Alex, who lay sprawled against the bed in silent shock recovering from the rape.

He headed to the door, turning to tell her something before leaving, letting the saddened and abused Alex Raven receive the Quickening from the 800-year-old boy.


	20. Chapter 20

**XX – Return.**

Juergen Salzberg was barely sixty, though he looked thirty. He had been born in a low-class family in Vienna. He had worked hard his way through school to university, where he had been awarded a scholarship to study Industrial Engineering in the United States.

He had graduated with honours and at twenty-eight, he had a high position in an important American company. The money he earned went over his head. He purchased expensive clothes and a luxurious large car. He thought no one could stop him now.

But he did not count on a simple felon who wanted the car. Juergen resisted and was shot. Such violent death triggered the immortality latent within him and, overnight, he was in poverty again.

He had been reckless and paid the price. Twice. First, with his money, however useless it would be now. And second, when he had been stupid enough to challenge the longhaired stranger that travelled with a pack of other three immortals. A few moves were enough to know he was lost. At least there would be no third time.

Connor MacLeod welled up all of himself to keep the Quickening from entering his body. But it simply took him. Connor gasped as he was raped by the energy and bolts hit him helplessly amid a white mist.

When it was over, he stood up, seeming haggard and angry. He glowered at the others, who were staring sympathetically. Cassandra had managed to form a ball with the Quickening that stemmed from a silly girl newly born into immortality, but the ball hit her anyway. Duncan had been swallowed by the Quickening after beheading his former opponent Felice Martins, whom they had found alone, playing an out-of-tune guitar on the street.

"This is not working, Methos."

The oldest of them acknowledged Duncan's comment but said nothing. He extended his arms forward and tightened his entire body. To their surprise, his body began to glow and flicker. He opened his mouth and a scream that was hardly human came out. His hands were being increasingly engulfed in a blue shimmering. The earth streaked and they all clung to whatever firm they could find to avoid falling down.

"Just..." he gasped "... focus."

The strange demonstration was over. But not because he wanted it. Because something else, in the dark night, had drawn his attention. He glanced at the Highlanders, neither of which seemed to have noticed what he had. His eyes posed on Cassandra. Tears were tripping down her eyes.

"At least one of them is gone." She cried.

"We need to return." Methos ordered.

"Return?" Connor complained. "Why?"

"Connor..." Cassandra taunted. "Shut up!"

-----

That had been a week ago. They had taken turns to drive all the way back to New York. Three wasted weeks in which they had hunted immortals, hoping to accomplish the channelling that would enable them to succeed against Ahriman. But they had accomplished nothing, except an increase in the amount of heads they had taken. As if anyone had ever counted.

They were back in the city. Duncan was driving. Neither Methos nor Cassandra had said a word about why they were returning so abruptly. But he had begun to worry. He was certain that either Kenny or Alex had been beheaded. But under which circumstances, he did not, and hated not knowing.

Duncan parked and the two oldest immortals got off quickly. They ran into the house and they heard a suffocated scream. Connor and Duncan walked into the house and held their breath.

The house had been awfully revolted. The glasses of the windows were completely shattered and scattered round the house. The sofas seemed to have caught fire and the tables were upside down.

"Amy! Nick!" Methos called out, the distress being evident in his voice.

They felt a dim buzz stemming from upstairs. Cassandra valiantly led the way, though she could not be certain of who was awaiting. Methos followed, while the two MacLeods were reluctant to be left behind.

Cassandra opened the room belonging to Alex and looked away. Methos walked in and let out an oath. Duncan peeked and cursed as well. Connor was the only one who dared walk in and take a closer look, his face revealing the shock.

Farther from the door, Nick Sutherland lay with his back to the floor. A hideous slash in his chest revealed what had occurred to him, and his eyes bore an absent look of emptiness. Closer to the bed, which ran parallel to the door wall, there was a large stain of dry blood, next to which lay a head with blond hairs.

Above the bed, the corpse of the 800-year-old boy lay huddled against a side. Sprawled across it, Alex Raven lay, a bloody shard of glass clung to her left hand, her right hand exposing a closing scar surrounded by dry blood. He analysed her detachedly. How long had she been doing that to herself?

"She killed them." He hissed finally.

The other three walked inside and examined the scene. Evidently, she had killed them both and was unable to deal with it. So she slashed her wrists constantly to drift away, until they arrived and make her pay for her sins. Connor found his line of reasoning coherent.

"Oh Lord!" Amy walked in suddenly and huddled against Methos' chest, bursting into tears like a child. He comforted her and asked what had happened. "I... "

"I think we've better let her explain." Connor hissed acidly.

Indeed, Alex was opening her eyes and succumbing to reality again. She felt the buzz of all them and forced herself slowly up. Her eyes were a painful purple mess that had not been erased even by her self-inflicted deaths. She viewed them despondently.

"Alex? What happened?" Methos questioned.

What occurred next was unpredictable. She rose from the bed and grabbed Methos against it, where she began to punch him fiercely, relentlessly, angrily. Every fist that connected against his face was paired with oaths and curses in different languages.

Duncan grabbed her and pushed her away, while Cassandra coldly watched Methos' bloody mess of a face heal, finding herself unable to suppress a wicked grin of satisfaction. When it cured, Methos rose and sat on the bed. He stared anxiously at Alex, who had another hysterical fit.

"Hey!" Cassandra called out. "Why you pick it on him?"

"He is a god damn son of a bitch!" Alex swore. "He hosted Ahriman..." at those words, everyone turned to the oldest immortal, who remained a listening statue. "Before that, he failed to defeat the son-of-a-bitch who killed them... and did more."

"More?" Connor buoyed uncertainly.

"Yeah." Alex was insane and laughing as such. "He's murdered and slain villages. He raped and tortured. But that would be nothing compared to leaving that bastard alive."

"Which bastard?" Duncan faced Methos, his I-want-answers face demanding the oldest immortal's rebuttal.

"Talthos." Methos shivered upon mentioning him. His voice was weak. "He's an old immortal. Older, and worse, much worse than Rose."

"She mentioned him..." Cassandra commented. "He's one of the Champions."

"Yes... and No."

"So?"

"He..." Methos' voice cracked. "He doesn't..."

"Methos...?" Duncan felt fear creeping up on him.

Methos' eyes wetted. Everyone gaped at that in shock. What was so dreadful that moved him to such state? The oldest immortal among them opened his mouth to speak, and they all paid intent attention to what was to be told...

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: There's no canon character named Juergen Salzberg._


	21. Chapter 21

**XXI – Talthos.**

"Millions of years ago, the first human beings were very different from what we are. But Nature handled the evolution of those men down through the centuries, shaping them to adapt to the changing world. Immortals also undergo a period of evolution.

"However, this evolution is not external. It is not like a ten thousand year old immortal will walk hunchedly and his arms will be large and strong enough to lift a heavy axe with a single hand.

"The evolution is a process that occurs within the immortal. It takes time. That is why sometimes we feel different sensations when different immortals approach. The way I felt Kenny was different from the one I feel when Cassandra comes nearby."

"Very interesting." Connor commented acidly. "So?"

"Do you remember 1985, Connor?" Methos countered. "When you believed the time of the Gathering had come, when you defeated the Kurgan? You had foolishly believed you had become the last one, so you got married and moved to Scotland."

Connor felt his chest tighten. The memories of what had happened to his late wife slapped him hard in the face. He wanted to punch Methos for bringing up the subject, but inside, he knew he deserved it. "Yes."

"You didn't notice anything odd when you received the Quickening of..." Methos looked down, then up again. "In the parking lot of the Madison Square Garden."

"Iman Fasil." Connor grunted. "Now that I think about it, it was different. There were no thunderbolts, just a light that illuminated me as the Quickening took me."

"Precisely."

"But Fasil and I were more or less the same age."

"But according to the old Watchers' files, he beheaded an immortal that was eleven thousand years old by the time Fasil killed him."

"So you're saying that Fasil's Quickening was affected by that other immortal's?" Cassandra joined the argument.

"And by every other immortal's he beheaded."

"And what does this have to do with... Talthos?" Duncan asked.

"Talthos is an old immortal that has chains to other realms. He is able to contact spirits and other metaphysical entities."

"Such as?"

"It doesn't really matter." Methos rose from the bed. "He has defeated Ahriman before. And in so doing, he became a threat much larger to mankind than Ahriman itself."

"Where was he all this time?"

"Around as all of us. Getting ready. Ahriman's victory must have set him in motion."

"How come?" Amy had only thought of asking, but the words had popped out of her mouth. "How come he is a threat?"

"Talthos has another peculiar ability, one I barely control, and one you were not able to learn thus far."

"He can channel?" Duncan did not understand what was so hazardous in that, and his voice revealed it.

"At a level beyond what any immortal is able to." Cassandra added.

"What do you mean?" Connor was feeling the fingers of his left hand moving. He did not like it. Because he was not moving them. He knew that the feeling he despised the most was triggering such involuntary motion: fear.

"He can keep it away from himself... indefinitely. Locked away, to be more precise."

Duncan couldn't avoid guffawing at that. However, he felt embarrassed when he noticed that nobody, not even Connor, was laughing.

"You say that he has a safe box where he stores the Quickening." Amy muttered as she shivered.

"Not a box." Methos stood up, having regained some composure. "It's a sword."

"A sword?" Alex had been intently listening.

"Yes. One of those unique weapons like those that are source of legend." Methos replied seriously.

"Legend?"

"Like Excalibur, or the swords of Beowulf."

"You're saying that those swords exist?!?"

"That is irrelevant." Connor cut her. "How did Talthos defeat Ahriman?"

Methos eyed Connor differently than before. Where the Highlander had found minutes ago a little defiance and contempt, now he found a strange look of respect and recognition.

"I can't be certain."

"He sends the Quickening to the sword..." Connor began to flutter around the room. His face revealed a growing concern with mixed with an apprehensive dread. "... And he surfaced again when Ahriman won..." He stopped and stared at Methos apologetically. He understood.

"Exactly." Cassandra saw also in Connor's eyes. "He will channel the Quickening out of the sword when he faces Ahriman."

"And what's the problem with that?" Duncan inquired, any joy gone of him.

"As I told Rose, this is your struggle. You are the one that has to defeat Ahriman." Methos scolded.

"But Methos..." Duncan stepped forward. "I lost."

"You're still the only one who can defeat him."

"Why's that?"

"We don't make the rules, Duncan." Cassandra interceded. "We just abide by them."

"And what if Talthos defeats Ahriman...?"

"He won't. He just doesn't know it." Methos let the words out in a rush of impotence. "And if he releases the Quickening contained in the sword... then there will not be a single mortal left in the surface of Earth."

"That means that we have to stop Talthos at any cost before he confronts Ahriman." Connor said with a certain belligerence.

Methos nodded silently. "We'll have to move. Pack what you need. Amy, you stay with Heather..." He noticed that Amy's look darkened upon the mention of the girl. "What is it?"

"She disappeared." Her eyes strained, fighting back tears. "The Quickening woke me up. I rushed to her room. She was not there. I came here and found all this." She gestured weakly at the two corpses.

"Do you think that Talthos...?" Duncan stammered, rage surging in his voice.

"I don't see why." Methos eyed at Connor, who seemed frozen in thought. He noticed there was something that was out of place for the Highlander. He felt the same. _Why would Talthos hold the girl hostage?_ "You all, go pack."

Alex, all rage and hatred gone off her, went first. Amy followed, gazing with concern at Methos. Duncan slowly left the room, his eyes fixed upon his clansman, who concealed his concerns, faked a grin and joined him on the way out.

Only Cassandra and Methos remained. Methos seemed uneasy, victim of the sudden confession of many things he thought he would never have to disclose. He was staring at some random point in the floor. She approached slowly and caressed the left side of his face. His face bent slightly to regard her and his mouth formed a smirk of distress.

"I know what you're thinking, Methos." She said in a voice as loud as a whisper. She moved too close to him, her mouth ending up very close to his. "Why did Talthos come here?"

"Indeed." He said detachedly, barely conscious of her certainty. His eyes fixed on her.

"Why didn't you tell them the rest about Talthos?"

"Because..." Methos eyed her with fondness. "They must not ponder that at the moment of the battle. Otherwise..."

"Do you think there's still hope for us?" she hissed sadly.

"Defeating Talthos is... complicated. And Ahriman is a wholly different thing."

She staggered back. She daintily let his hand off his face. Tears welled in her eyes. She held them at bay. She stiffed her lips and left the room. Methos watched her go and clenched his fists in rage.

He had wanted to say that the two of them could have a bright future together if they made it through. He knew that she had finally forgiven him. But he also knew that that life together would be impossible. Neither because the past would creep up on them as grudges or recriminations, nor because they were immortals, and their very nature would eventually turn them against each other. Merely because one of them would not survive...


	22. Chapter 22

**XXII – Towards the End.**

Nicholas Wolfe was in bed. By him, Sharona rested leaning against his chest. Both were naked. She was exhausted. Ever since Amira had possessed her, Nicholas had been meaner and harder with her.   
Many things unwanted had happened lately. Duncan MacLeod had returned. So had Roxheanna of Ningunus. His mistress had vanished. Amira appeared. And a dim familiar presence disturbed him.   
It preoccupied him that something went wrong. He had considered the possibility that immortals tried to stop him. Not pitiful ageless beings like many he had faced. Immortals that knew how he had been defeated. He didn't worry about Roxheanna or any other immortal that could have defeated him in the past. If they fought him again, they would lose, no matter what. 

But what if Duncan MacLeod obtained the knowledge of all those immortals that had defeated him in the past? The Highlander was a strong-willed man. Thinking in advance, he had devised a contingency plan. A plan set in motion shortly after the Highlander's defeat. He smirked as he squeezed one of Sharona's buttocks. He thought of Methos, his first dwelling. _If he knew what he truly brought about_. He broke into harsh laughter.

Sharona awoke startled and panicked. Nicholas noticed her fear and pushed against the bed, prone to make her his once more...

----

Methos sped through a barren avenue of New York City. Cassandra was by him, while Alex and the MacLeods were in the backseat. Amy had wanted to stay at the house. She was evidently afraid of being left alone, but she had insisted, knowing she was useless in what they were going to do.

"You know where you're going?" Connor complained, after a quick turn made Alex and Duncan push against him. Connor became the contents of a sandwich that instead of bread used the two immortals and the left back door.

"He's nearby..." Cassandra mused. Duncan glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror and saw her eyes were blank. She was in some sort of trance.

"Methos... what do we do once we find him?" he asked.

"Let's find him first. Then we'll see."

Duncan glanced at Alex, who seemed extremely out of place. "Are you OK?"

"Eh? Yeah." Her response was strange.

"Sure?"

"I told you I'm fine, MacLeod!" she snapped. Duncan glanced through the window, hurt by her reaction.

They passed through a large building, which had been once a five-star luxurious hotel. They all sensed the most dreadful of buzzes stemming from there. Methos gassed away quickly.

"Now we know where Ahriman is." Connor hissed in a weird good mood.

"Talthos is not in the City... he is..." Cassandra tried to focus.

"He is nearby though." Methos added.

"What about the River?" Connor suggested.

"The Bridge." Methos brightened.

He curbed the car abruptly. Its front tyres squealed as they halted and the vehicle made an awkward quick turn. Methos changed the gear and sped towards the Statue of Liberty, Hudson River... and Brooklyn Bridge...

-----

They got off the car at the beginning of the bridge. Their minds were pervaded by the horrid buzzing. They sensed a peculiar presence that provoked a dreary chill in them. At the middle of the Bridge, a figure stood, apparently expecting them.

Methos went first. Cassandra and Connor followed suit. Behind, Alex and Duncan completed the trail. Methos paced slowly, his hands casually hidden in the pockets of his coat. When he was at a distance sufficient to allow a good look at the other, he halted and raised his right hand. The other barely nodded.

"We may approach... but be cautious. I don't expect this to be easy." He cautioned.

They continued forward. Connor scrutinised the man known as Talthos. He was a lean man. His hair was short and cropped up. He should have been in his mid thirties by the time of his first death. He wore jeans and a long beige coat. His eyes were pitch black, and were scowling at them with a strange intensity. Connor instinctively placed a hand over his tigerhead _katana_.

"Hello, Talthos."

"Methos..." Talthos' voice was wicked and contained both mockery and seriousness in an undescribeable way. "It has been a long time."

"Indeed it has. You know why we are here, don't you?"

"You expect me to avoid my destiny?" Talthos' eyes fixed upon his interlocutor, then shifted to Duncan. "And let him give the world to Ahriman?"

"This is different, Talthos. You are at least twice my age. You should know that. Ahriman has the world already. We have to overthrow him."

"And so I WILL!" Talthos bellowed. "The power of the Quickening will help me!"

Methos pleaded with his eyes. "I let you live four thousand years ago, and you said..."

"I said that you could count me as a friend for eternity. But..." Talthos shook his head grimly as his hands dug inside the coat and produced a _gladius _which glimmered with a strange glow. "Friendships mean nothing in times of war."

Methos saddened at his words. "You know I can't let you face him."

Talthos made a respectful vow. "This is not about the Game, Methos. If it were—" his words sounded sincerely painful. His eyes widened at something going on behind Methos.

A sword slashing the air whistled before its collision against another weapon rattled deafeningly in the silent bridge. Alex Raven had had her sword prone to behead Duncan, and she had almost succeeded, had not Connor lunged out to save his clansman.

"Alex!" Methos called.

Alex burst into a sickening laughter. In her forehead, a pentacle swelled and glistened. Duncan had instinctively ducked upon the clash. Connor had his _katana_ ready to fight her. But a shape passing by her made him lower his sword.

"Amira." Cassandra spoke with certain surprise. "You are not supposed to be in this realm."

"But I am, Cassandra." The voice hardly sounded like Alex. "And I'm here to stay."

"Is that so?" the sorceress hoisted her sword. "You are a lesser devil. An entity of no importance."

"I shall teach you respect." Alex scowled back, straightening her broadsword.

"I have defeated you before. And you were not flesh and bone." Cassandra hissed. "I can't respect a pitiful being like you."

"Shut up, bitch!"

Alex lunged forward. Cassandra parried her away. The possessed one took distance and made her sword spin in the air. She went forward again. Cassandra avoided a downward left-handed lash with a twisting motion that enabled her to wound Alex's shoulder. She staggered back, nodding her head trustingly.

"I will handle this." She told the others confidently.

Connor and Duncan nodded with tranquillity. Cassandra seemed to have the situation under control. However, when they faced the other immortals, they saw the sheer face of disaster, stemming from Methos. Duncan bit his lip as tears welled in his eyes. Connor endured it without shedding. They learned what Methos knew already: whatever the outcome, Cassandra was lost...


	23. Chapter 23

**XXIII - Sacrifice.**

"I can see in your face that she means a lot to you, Methos. I'm sorry."

Methos acknowledged Talthos' sympathy and nodded. Talthos was one of the most powerful and vicious immortals of all times. But also, he was an honourable man, a quirk that evil men had lost over the centuries.

Methos hoisted his sword. Suddenly he found himself flanked by both Connor and Duncan MacLeod. He eyed them uncertainly.

"It is I who will fight you, Talthos."

"And who are you?"

"I'm Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Ah, you. You defeated the Kurgan... and also welcomed the Quickening from Nakano. You are a brave warrior... unlike that coward." Talthos sneered at Duncan. "I will fight you with pleasure. The Quickening from you will be important when I face Ahriman."

"Heh-heh." Connor chuckled. "You won't face him. Duncan will."

"Connor." Methos interrupted. "It is I who will fight him."

"Be my guest, Methos."

The man once known as Adam Pierson got rid of his coat and held his sword with his right hand. In front of him, Talthos stood in a defensive stance, his sword protecting his chest horizontally. He placed his blade near his face and then moved it away, bowing in respect to his opponent. Methos grinned and nodded in response.

The clash came before the Highlanders noticed. Suddenly, Methos was diverting a downward chop. Duncan gulped. Connor stared icily. They both realised that this Talthos was much less ordinary than what Methos had told them.

---

"Cassandra, you whore!"

Alex held her side, badly gashed by a deep cut of Cassandra's blade. Her shoulder still bled from a previous blow and pain was invading her. Cassandra smirked. Had it been Alex Raven, she would have had a bad time. But it was the devil Amira, a minor entity who had possessed a body she had no idea of how to control.

"Shall we continue?"

"Anytime, Cassandra."

Alex lunged and was wounded yet again. Cassandra thought it was going to be even easier than she had conceived, yet she wondered why there was a tiny smile in the lips of her opponent...

-----

Methos diverted a blow and ducked to avoid a very swift reaction by Talthos, which would have slashed his throat. He staggered back. He realised there was sweat on his forehead. He wiped it off quickly as Talthos examined him cautiously.

He went forward, arching his sword over his head. He chopped several times against Talthos, all of which were blocked. He suddenly changed strategy and tried slicing Talthos' stomach. His opponent realised yet could not prevent it. The blade kissed the stomach and bit it. Talthos leapt back as he held his wound.

Methos eyed his sword, stained with the blood of the old immortal, blood which was dripping off the tip of the blade. He sighed, glad that he had managed to wound him. He had a chance.

"You've gone rusty, Methos." Talthos suddenly guffawed. "I admit you surprised me, but your attacks are those of a caveman. Even that pitiful Highlander could defeat you."

"He could defeat me indeed." Methos raised his guard. "He's the greatest warrior of all times. And he will defeat Ahriman."

"You wish..."

Talthos sped ahead. He tried Methos' defence with a lash to the left and he met the other's sword. Suddenly, his left leg extended forward, kicking the other in the chest. Methos stepped back without balance and that was all Talthos needed to make three deep cuts in Methos' chest. The immortal formerly known as Adam Pierson let his sword fall, as himself fell on his knees and blood erupted off his mouth.

"Sorry it ends this way, Methos."

Talthos hammered against Methos' neck. But something blocked. A neat _katana_, which strongly pushed Talthos' sword away. The old immortal eyed angrily at the intruder, who was the useless Duncan MacLeod himself.

"Duncan!" Connor yelled. "You can't interfere, damn it!"

"Yes, I can, Connor." Duncan replied, holding the hilt of his sword with both hands and driving it to his left.

"And how come is that, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod?" Talthos defied.

"You said it yourself, Talthos." Duncan said with determination. "It is not about the Game."

A tiny grin of satisfaction posed on the old immortal. "I am amazed, Highlander. Maybe I have underestimated you after all." Talthos hoisted the _gladius_. "And maybe you'll live up to your reputation."

Talthos struck as a cannonball. Duncan parried his blows with much exertion. Thrusts, chops, slices, lashes... everything the older immortal sent was diverted by the younger. Though Duncan himself knew that if he was to win, he had to do more than divert the other's blows.

Methos stood up and glanced casually at the scene. His eyes posed on Connor, who was attentively following the battle, his hand clung to the grip of his sword.

"He's too damn good, isn't he, Connor?"

"He is. Even for Duncan. "Remember what I told you that night? When Duncan and Cassandra went for a walk?"

"I do." Methos drew closer. "You were serious, weren't you?"

"Aye." Connor's voice notched down a bit. "But things may have a different outcome... DUNCAN!!!"

Ahead, the Highlander had been impaled against Talthos' sword, after having bravely deflected off at least a hundred attacks. Talthos was grinning. Methos stood frozen, not understanding something. Why was also MacLeod smiling?

"You fought bravely, Duncan MacLeod. I apologize for my insults. But I've won." Talthos bellowed.

"No... we've won, Talthos." Duncan spat blood.

"What do you--?" Talthos found himself unable to withdraw his sword, it being deep within Duncan, who kept it there.

Methos was about to rush forward with his sword out and ready to deliver the killing blow. But a gentle pat in his shoulder halted him.

"I will do it." He glanced at Connor. There was a strange look in the Highlander's eyes. "You're more necessary than I, Methos."

"Connor..."

"I told you. I will do _anything_ to see this whole damn situation over... well, I might not see it, but what the hell?"

"There's something you should know about Talthos that..."

"That beheading him will do me no good?" Connor chuckled. "I had realised of that. If he has no quickening within him, God knows what expects me. Duncan surely realised of that too. That's why he is keeping the sword within him."

Methos smiled and offered his hand. Connor shook it. "Good luck, Connor MacLeod. I hope we meet again."

Connor grinned. "I hope not... not for a while at least."

He stormed forward, raising the _katana_ above his head. The air was cut by the blade as it began to descend, not towards Talthos' neck but towards his sword. The clash was deafening and the blade of the _gladius_ snapped.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" Talthos shrieked, his face beginning to deform. His skin became fluffy and slipped down his bones, his hair began to fall, and particles of dust surrounded him. His whole body disintegrated into a pile of ancient dust.

Duncan felt his senses leaving him and the last he saw was the glad face of his clansman distorting into something else...

"Connor..." he mused before fainting...


	24. Chapter 24

**XXIV - Against Ahriman.**

Duncan woke up. He found himself in a familiar room. He instinctively reached for the wound in his chest. After four hundred and fifty years, he was still unable to avoid such reaction, though he knew that there would be no wound. He rose, feeling his body stiff, either because of the _rigor mortis_ or merely of sleep.

He felt the buzz in his head and left the room. He recognised the house he had been living with the others, and realised he had been in his own room. He headed towards the living room. Amy was crying, her face hidden in her hands. Methos was consoling her. He sensed him and eyed.

"Where... is Connor?" he mumbled.

Methos nodded him to sit in front of them, as he helped Amy up and helped her to the same bedroom where Dr. Anne Linsey had passed away. When he returned, his look was plain, yet his eyes gave away the rage and frustration he felt.

"I'm sorry, MacLeod."

"What??" Duncan felt his breath leaving him. "But he broke Talthos' sword. That should have..."

Methos smirked and a tear streaked down his left eye. "This is a battle of uncertainties. Alex is dead. So is Cassandra. That leaves only you and me."

Duncan endured the tears. "Connor?"

"You see, Talthos had the Quickening in the sword. Such an amount of power would have sufficed to erase mankind off the surface of Earth. And Connor knew it. So he welcomed that entire power within him."

"He did _what_?!"

"We are immortals because of the Quickening. Without it, we are long dead. As you expected, upon the breaking of Talthos' blade, he would disappear. However, the Quickening would still be unleashed. Connor absorbed that power, knowing what it would do to him..."

"What... happened...to him?"

"What followed was a little confusing..." Methos' voice cracked once or twice during the narration. "His body glimmered and it was blinding. I lost my sight temporarily because of it. When I could see again..."

Methos pointed with his index finger at an element besides him. It was Connor's tigerhead _katana._ Duncan stretched out and grabbed it. His eyes watered.

"And Cassandra...?"

"She defeated Amira... taking Alex's head." Methos shook his head in psychical pain. "Amira took her over... I..."

"You took her head?"

"And channelled away the Quickening."

"TO where?" Duncan almost shouted.

"Your hands."

Duncan eyed and realised. He was holding not only a memorial of his mentor, friend, clansman and brother, but also the container of the devil Amira, as well as of the power and knowledge of the sorceress Cassandra.

"God..." Duncan wept freely, staring away.

Methos stood up and went to stare out through the window. Outside, tiny raindrops fell and washed away the filth of the streets. He wished they could wash away his pain as well.

"Duncan..." he turned. "You know what happens now, don't you?"

The Highlander brushed off the tears. "It is up to us now, isn't it?"

"Exactly." Methos approached him. "There is only one left."

"Ahriman."

"You know it will be difficult."

"Very." Duncan stood up and found his dragonhead _katana_ nearby. He grasped it and headed to the door. "Let's go."

"What about Amy?"

"It's best if we don't say farewell... and we might be affected by her."

"You're becoming more and more wiser, MacLeod." Methos nodded, grasping his broadsword and heading out with the Highlander...

----

_Ahriman's Hotel._

Nicholas Wolfe felt the presence of the two immortals and broke into a horrid guffaw. He grasped his broadsword and waited in his bed, calmly staring at the furniture by him.

The door was kicked open. Duncan MacLeod appeared, Methos siding him. Nicholas smiled.

"Honey, we've visitors!" he said with a preternatural voice.

"Be prepared to fight, Ahriman." Duncan challenged.

"Really, Duncan? And what is Methos doing here?" Will he fight me too? How interesting. He, of all people, the harbinger of doom, is trying to make things right."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Methos snapped.

"Don't you remember the full prophecy, Methos? It was not all about the description of the Champion." Nicholas chuckled. "It also said: _If Evil wins, darkness will reign forever._ _And Evil shall breed a child to ensure his legacy. And together they shall reign for eternity."_

"That's nonsense. You've occupied the body of an immortal... and immortals can't breed." Methos countered.

"Is that so? Well, let me enlighten you on immortal anatomy. Immortals can't breed on mortals. But on other creatures... you should know."

"Methos... what is he talking about?" Duncan questioned.

"I'm not—"

Then they heard a deafening humming, stemming from a childish throat. Duncan felt his skin freeze when he recognised that humming. He glanced at Methos, on whose face a fatality of unknown proportions had posed. He knew that humming, not from recently, but from the night on which the nightmare had begun.

"Why do you think Alexa left, Methos?" Nicholas mocked. "Yes... she was pregnant. She carried your child... My child... in her womb." Nicholas looked farther. "Meet your daughter, you son of a bitch."

Methos turned. So did Duncan. Their eyes acknowledged what they imagined. Before them, the little girl Duncan had met in a derelict library, the one Connor had named Heather, stood mightily. Her eyes glimmered of red evil.

"Duncan..." Methos hissed as he fell on his knees. "We're doomed."


	25. Chapter 25

**XXV – Finale.**

"Methos..."

Duncan shook his head. He focused on Nicholas Wolfe, Ahriman. He lunged himself at him, delivering enraged and violent blows, all of which were promptly diverted. He paused as the other smiled.

"Duncan... you still fight. How brave of you."

Wolfe struck. Duncan deflected off his attacks, yet suddenly felt a searing pain in his side. When had he been slashed there?

"Methos! Stand up!"

But Methos was on his knees, shaking his head, having grasped the true notion of what he had truly done. He was the one to blame. He had been unable to get over Alexa... and had fulfilled the prophecy completely by getting her pregnant.

Her? That thing was not Alexa. Alexa was human. The replica which Ahriman had given him was something else, an entity of some other realm. He had been too fool to believe in Ahriman...

"Baby, say hi to your daddy!"

Nicholas' mockery was joined by the girl's approaching. He felt her by him but dared not eye at her. He felt her tiny hands embracing him. He clenched his fists in rage till they bled. Tears left his eyes, tears of hopelessness.

Duncan lashed out at Ahriman, who arched his arm up to contain the cut with the sleeve of his shirt, which was one size bigger. He countered with some hard blows which Duncan diverted as he could. Suddenly, the younger Highlander felt his stomach on fire. He retreated and eyed. There was blood on his belly, and it was concomitant with a lethal numbness.

Duncan used his sword to remain stood. He felt his strength leaving him, as did the blood from his body. He felt light-headed, too damn light-headed. Suddenly he felt another buzz. Was he hallucinating?

NO. It wasn't. Ahriman had felt it too. So had Methos, who had risen his head. Duncan forced out a grin. He knew that buzz.

At the door, an immortal appeared. He was bald and his face presented hideous burns and wounds. He barely wore a loose white tee shirt and a pair of khakis. In his left hand, a rapier. In the right, a _katana _glimmered with supernatural intensity.

"Ahriman!" he bellowed.

The girl tried to stand in his way but he slapped her away ruthlessly. He helped Methos up. The older immortal grinned and nodded, hope reborn in him. He scowled at Ahriman. Duncan felt fear upon seeing that scowl.

"You! Who are you?" Ahriman grunted.

"I'm Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"You?!?" The humanity in Nicholas Wolfe leaked out a face similar to the one of a fearful man.

"Me."

Connor lunged forward. Ahriman diverted his blows easily, till suddenly he realised of something. Connor had only used the rapier to attack. Where was the _katan--_?

He felt something pierce him and at the same time impaled Connor against his sword. He glanced down and saw Connor's tigerhead _katana_ stuck in his chest. He guffawed.

"You think you will defeat me like this, Highlander?"

"Nah." Connor grinned under the burned mask of a face he bore. "I'll even the score."

Then his body began to glow and flicker. So did the katana. Suddenly a yell came from Ahriman. Not from Ahriman, but from Nicholas Wolfe. His body shone with a red intermittence, and that strange red lifted up, leaving the human carcass he occupied. Connor's body began to disintegrate, just like Talthos had.

"Connor!!!!!" Duncan shrieked, stepping backward, joining Methos, who contemplated everything with stiffness and detachment.

"Farewell, Highlander." Methos chanted. "Connor's balanced the struggle." Now he bellowed to Duncan, while ahead of them only Nicholas Wolfe remained. "Pay no heed whatsoever to Ahriman. Focus on the man ahead of you and nothing else."

"What was all that for?" Nicholas Wolfe queried, standing up and removing the sword off his body.

"He's out of you, don't you feel it?" Methos spat back.

"He will return!" Nicholas cried.

"Not for the next minute at least..." Duncan wielded up his _katana_. "You'll be dead by then."

Duncan stormed ahead, lashing out unstoppable attacks at Nicholas. Now a simple immortal, Nicholas found it impossible to do anything against those attacks. A minute later, he was down on his knees.

"Ahrimaaaan!!!" Nicholas cried.

"He's gone... and so are you."

Duncan sliced off his head. The Quickening was huge and very powerful, and the very foundations of the building shook. Duncan felt the frustration of Wolfe upon life. He learned the truth about his once beloved, now dead. Tears leaked from his eyes.

"_Duncan..."_

The voice belonged to Ahriman. As he knew it. The voice belonging to the immortal hunter James Horton, a man he had killed, and whose resemblance Ahriman had used to appear as. He blocked his senses not to hear anything.

"_Richie killer... Richie killer..."_

Richie. How long had it been since he had killed him? He would understand, and if he ever met him on the afterlife, forgive him.

"_Hear me... HEAR ME!!!"_

The voice became tinier and tinier. Then nothing but a whisper. Then it went away as the Quickening did. Duncan fell to the ground, his body still and stiff after having received such a huge amount of power.

He saw a hand extended. It was Methos, who helped him to stand. He saw a smile in his face.

"Where is...?"

"Gone... with Him."

"Did we win, Methos?"

Methos nodded silently and motioned to leave...

EPILOGUE 

_The Highlands of Scotland._

Duncan and Methos stood by the hilt of a large claymore. They had been around the world over the last month, taking care of important things.

Duncan had visited Richie's grave. It had a simple epitaph: "RICHIE RYAN. FRIEND." Methos said it had been Joe's idea. Duncan found it simple and very adequate.

They had moved from there to bury each and every of the fallen immortals in their birthplaces. They had taken part of the victory, and deserved such homage.

Methos had buried Cassandra in the forest where she had dwelt in Scotland. There, Duncan had seen him cry as never before. He didn't, and wouldn't, ever comment it with Methos or anyone.

And here they were. They had buried Connor by his bonny Heather and now stood in silent tribute at the hilt of the claymore of the banished member of the clan MacLeod.

"We've done well, Methos."

"We did, MacLeod."

The comments were brief and detached.

"What about now?"

"You are the only Champion left. You shall have to survive until you find the next one."

"Will He return?"

"Of course he will." Methos' voice hardened. "And I hope we are there to face him again."

"But the burden won't be ours." Duncan grinned staring at his friend.

"It won't... but we will help."

"What if the Game ends before...?" Methos put on a pair of sunglasses, gave one last smile at Connor's grave and turned. "Methos... you didn't reply... what if...?"

Methos left in silence. Duncan grinned. He knew what would happen. But he wouldn't tell. Just like he wouldn't explain how Connor had survived Talthos and torn Ahriman and Wolfe apart. How many things he had kept to himself? Methos was like that, and now that the chaos was over, a century of rebirth lay ahead.

He eyed ahead at the setting sun. Would mankind return to its path in a century? Would it take two, three or four? Would life be the same as it was in a millennium? How would the next encounter against Ahriman be?

"Too many questions..." he said aloud. "You always said I asked too many questions, Connor. And I still do."

Duncan MacLeod began to stroll away, knowing that to have all those questions answered, he would have to remain alive through the millennium. But he wouldn't bury in holy ground. He would live in this new era, and face whatever it brought, including immortals.

And if the End of the Game came before the millennium, then he would have to struggle through the Gathering and be that last one... or die in the intent. ---


End file.
